


The Red Temple

by chains_archivist



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Boys in Chains, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slaves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 14:49:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4225986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Rushlight</p><p>After reading Kass & Kate's "Disobedience," I couldn't get the image of Obi-Wan as a prurient sex slave out of my mind. The story just kind of took off from there. <br/>Warnings: This story contains graphic depictions of nonconsensual sex and nonconsensual S/M, so if this kind of thing squicks you, then pray thee do not venture down this beaten path (no pun intended)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Red Temple

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Disobedience](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4223271) by [chains_archivist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist). 



> Note from Dusk, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Boys in Chains](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Boys_in_Chains), which opened in 2000 as a multifandom archive for both fiction and art, but then sadly went offline in 2005. To bring the archive back, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2014. Open Doors [posted an announcement](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/1832) and e-mailed all creators about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please [contact the Open Doors committee](http://transformativeworks.org/contact/open%20doors).
> 
> WARNINGS!!: This story contains graphic depictions of nonconsensual sex and nonconsensual S/M, so if this kind of thing squicks you, then pray thee do not venture down this beaten path (no pun intended) 
> 
> Summary: After reading Kass & Kate's "Disobedience," I couldn't get the image of Obi-Wan as a prurient sex slave out of my mind. The story just kind of took off from there. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon, and the Star Wars universe belong to George Lucas. This story was written for the sheer joy of creation, and I am not making any money off of it. All other characters and the story itself is (c) Rushlight, 1999. 
> 
> Feedback: Please! I kind of went out on a limb with this one, so I'd appreciate your letting me know what you think of it.

"What do you see when you stand in the dark, and the demons come?" -In the Line of Fire   
  
Governor L'rell was a large man, with the softly golden skin and (Obi-Wan thought) strangely beautiful dark eyes that were representative of his race. Other than that, he could almost pass for human. He had a bit of a paunch around his middle, the result of too sedentary a life, but he still looked fit for a man of his age.   
  
He had gone to the Senate first, of course, but after several weeks they were still debating on whether or not his problem constituted an act of retaliation by the Council. It was something that Obi-Wan had noticed before, and wondered at: how could such a diverse conglomeration of individuals ever put aside their differences long enough to come to an agreement on anything? Once, when he was younger, he had asked Master Qui-Gon this very thing. The response had been immediate and touched with an edge of wry humor that he really hadn't understood at the time - "That, my Padawan, is the definition of politics."   
  
He believed he understood it now.   
  
Desperate, Governor L'rell had taken it upon himself to make a visit to the Temple of the Jedi and plead his case. Succinctly, he explained how his son M'kal had been kidnapped by a rival faction in his government and sold into Red Temple slavery. "Red Temple" referred to the thriving flesh market on his homeworld of Arambula, a semi-legal economy that in reality provided the financial backbone for this unassuming Fringe world. Thus, the government was reluctant to battle the slavers openly, even though they officially frowned on the practice of selling slaves. Unable to find help among his own people, he had turned to the Republic for assistance.   
  
Without the consent of the Council, the Jedi could not take sides in any political dispute. They could, however, embark on a mission of mercy to rescue one frantic governor's child. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were selected for the task and had taken off at once in a high-speed freighter for the far-off planet of Arambula.   
  
The main problem before them was how to locate M'kal in a world that was literally thronged with Red Temple slaves, and they discussed it at great length during the uneventful voyage. L'rell's only input was that he was fairly certain his son was sold in Nhil-Rhar, the primary auction block for the Southern continent. There just hadn't been enough time for him to have been taken anywhere else. His own spies had confirmed this, adding that his child had been purchased the day of his arrival there, although they didn't know by whom.   
  
"It was probably Arvala," L'rell said, sounding resentful. "He owns most of the business in that part of the country."   
  
It was Obi-Wan's suggestion that he go undercover as a slave himself, to scope out the auction houses and brothels. Qui-Gon objected heatedly, as Obi-Wan pretty much expected he would, but he held firm. "Two Jedi, wandering openly through the city and asking questions, will not accomplish anything," he said. "A single Jedi, masquerading as a slave, will be all but invisible."  
  
"Then let it be me," Qui-Gon pleaded, his distress evident.   
  
"With all due respect, Master," L'rell spoke up, "you are too old to attract the same kind of buyer as M'kal." His eyes flickered over Obi-Wan appraisingly. "Your apprentice is very beautiful. He will fetch as handsome a price as my son undoubtedly did." There was bitterness in his tone.   
  
Although Qui-Gon was still unconvinced, Obi-Wan began to prepare for the mission. L'rell explained to him how the Red Temple was organized, showing him maps of Nhil-Rhar and the surrounding cities, describing the customs and practices that defined life on Arambula. Obi-Wan attempted to imitate the lilting accent that was most common in the South, but L'rell stopped him. "Your offworld accent makes you seem more exotic," he said. "Just be yourself, and it'll be enough to seduce any buyer within a hundred parsecs."   
  
Such comments made Qui-Gon distinctly uneasy. He wasn't sure why this mission bothered him so deeply, but he could not shake a lingering dissatisfaction that bordered on outright anger at the thought of it. Obi-Wan was acting selflessly and with calm determination; he should be praising him instead of sulking like a jealous boyfriend.   
  
He sat apart from them for the better part of the voyage, wrapped up tight in his cloak and his thoughts, watching Obi-Wan with narrowed eyes. Obi-Wan, for his part, ignored the scrutiny and concentrated on his conversations with L'rell.   
  
His apprentice really was quite beautiful. It was something Qui-Gon had never consciously noticed before, but now it was all he could think about. The way the light touched him, shifting as he moved, pooling in the soft blue-green of his eyes. The quiet whisper of his robes, combined with the controlled grace of that tiger-lean body, could doubtlessly be construed as erotic by those whose minds were bent to notice that sort of thing. Add to that the alluring half-smile that so often graced the handsome face, the moist fullness of his lips, the-   
  
Whoa. Qui-Gon sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes. It was only natural for a Master to want to protect his Padawan, but this was getting out of hand. Of course, his resistance to this mission had to stem from an understandable desire to keep his Padawan from a potentially hazardous situation.   
  
What else could it possibly be? 

* * *

  
They came to Arambula much sooner than Obi-Wan would have liked. Despite his bravado in suggesting this course of action, he was deeply frightened. Qui-Gon's brooding silence throughout the voyage hadn't helped any, and his Master's unfathomable stares made him nervous. But he really couldn't think of another way to go about this, not if they wanted to rescue Governor L'rell's son. And despite his obvious disapproval with Obi-Wan's decision, Qui-Gon had no other ideas to offer.   
  
It wasn't as though Obi-Wan had never had sex before. In fact, it was a pastime that he enjoyed very much, given the right partner. But the thought of selling himself into sexual slavery was rather intimidating. Of course, he had the vast resources of the Force at his disposal if he ever decided he'd had enough. He would never truly be in any danger at all. He reminded Qui-Gon of this as they fell out of orbit and coasted down toward the governor's private mansion. Even so, he wondered if he were really trying to reassure Qui-Gon, or himself.   
  
He had passed up his Jedi robes in favor of a loose-fitting tunic and trousers. It seemed to be the traditional costume for those being brought to the auction blocks, both functional and cheap for dealers who truly did not want to spend a great deal of money on their wares.   
  
L'rell introduced him to one of his servants upon landing, a tall, sharp-featured gentleman by the name of Kanda. It was Kanda who would be taking him to the auction block, he was told, because he was newly employed by the household and had little chance of being recognized as one of L'rell's people. As an aside, out of Kanda's hearing, L'rell added that he had once been a slaver himself, and so knew the market better than anyone here. Obi-Wan was not comforted by this.   
  
There really weren't that many preparations to make. L'rell and Qui-Gon would search the city for signs of the men who had kidnapped M'kal, with the intention of seeing that they found justice for their crimes. Obi-Wan would work the inside of the loop and find M'kal himself. It was a seamless plan and proposed no obvious flaws, but still Qui-Gon was restless and on edge. Obi-Wan resigned himself to having his Master's disapproval, not quite sure what to do about it.   
  
He left at dawn the next day, the bright Arambulan sun coating the hills and forests with a thick, reddish glow. It would be about a half-day's drive to the city, and then the auction would take place in the mid-afternoon. Kanda herded him brusquely into the waiting hovercar that would take them to Nhil-Rhar, while Qui-Gon and L'rell piled into a second one, ready to follow at a discreet distance. His Master had changed into clothes with a distinctly local look about them, so that he might not be so easily recognized as a Jedi: loose pants that accentuated his long legs and a full-sleeved tunic that spilled over his narrow hips, cinched at the waist by a leather belt. His hair was loose around his shoulders. Obi-Wan found the sight strangely breathtaking and had to force himself to look away.   
  
//Good-bye, Padawan,// came his Master's voice in his mind, sounding mournful.   
  
//Bye,// he returned, comforted by the brief contact. //I promise I'll be careful.//   
  
As the hovercar sailed smoothly down the long drive and the mansion was lost from view behind them, he heard one final admonition.   
  
//See that you do.// 

* * *

  
Stupid. Stupid, foolish, inexcusable lack of judgement to even consider letting Obi-Wan talk him into this. What kind of a Master was he, to allow his Padawan to place himself in this kind of jeopardy? Obi-Wan had absolutely no idea what he was getting himself into.   
  
And I just let him go.   
  
The crowds of the Nhil-Rhar marketplace surged around him, disorienting him and fraying at the edges of his already too-volatile temper. At the center of the square, directly in front of him, a heavily polished wooden platform rose above it all, where various slaves were being displayed for the viewing pleasure of the assembled crowd. They were all unclothed, each of them looking lost and frightened and alone, attended by scowling dealers who kept them in place with muttered threats and sharp blows, demanding obedience.   
  
Qui-Gon had an innate dislike of slavers. He believed very strongly that every individual deserved the right to make their own choices, to choose their own destiny. However, until the Republic took the time to issue a formal law against it, which would alienate several member worlds and would therefore probably never happen, there wasn't a whole lot that he could do about it.   
  
He was dreadfully frightened for Obi-Wan. He could tell through the bond they shared that his Padawan was relaxed and at ease, although a trifle nervous about what awaited him. Qui-Gon clenched his jaw at this display of naivete - he had been to worlds where cruelty to slaves was not only allowed but encouraged; he'd seen the things that men were capable of. There was no guarantee that his Padawan would find a kind master, or that any of this would help them find M'kal.   
  
The fact that they had no other choice didn't make it any better.   
  
A collective sigh passed through the crowd then, as a new round of slaves was brought up to the platform. Qui-Gon recognized Kanda and immediately tensed. The former slaver held one end of a long lead, the other of which was attached to the neck of the figure that trailed after him. This person was covered from head to toe in a long, brown robe, his face concealed in the shadows of a deep cowl, but Qui-Gon immediately recognized the long strides and easy grace of his apprentice.   
  
Kanda gave the lead a gentle tug, causing his trophy to trip a little over the last couple of steps. Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed; was that really necessary? Obi-Wan followed without complaint, however, and took his place on the stage. There were six others there with him, similarly cloaked and hooded, only one of them an offworlder like Obi-Wan. One by one, they were disrobed before the eagerly waiting crowd.   
  
Kanda slipped loose the ties that held the cowl closed at Obi-Wan's throat with deft fingers and pushed the hood back off of his head. Qui-Gon was impressed by the calm, evaluating look in his apprentice's eyes. Quick as thought, Kanda unfastened the front closure of the robe, and the material slid down the young man's body to pool at his feet.   
  
Qui-Gon stared. He had seen his apprentice naked before, many times throughout their long association together. It wasn't anything that he had ever really thought about before. But now, seeing the elegantly sculpted muscles and planes of that hard body, he felt a stirring inside of him that defied explanation, and he had the ridiculous urge to look away, as if that would somehow make it easier on Obi-Wan.   
  
He wasn't the only one who was staring. He realized suddenly that his bond with his Padawan had been clamped down to the barest trickle of awareness; Obi-Wan was blocking him. Doubtless, he was uncomfortable with being so blatantly displayed before the crowd, although his face showed no emotion whatsoever. He was trying to keep his true feelings from Qui-Gon.   
  
//Just a word, Padawan,// Qui-Gon sent to him. //Just one word, and it will all be over.// Obi-Wan didn't even look at him.   
  
There was a stirring at the edge of the crowd, and a tall, imposing-looking man stepped up to the platform proper. He was broad-chested, with a mane of thick blond hair and a curling beard that almost touched his chest. Immediately, the dealers on the stand pulled at their leads, forcing their charges to fall to their knees. Obi-Wan knelt gracefully, seeming to sense that he was required to do so before Kanda could urge him. His hands folded quietly in front of him - a meditative posture.   
  
"That's Arvala," L'rell said, dark eyes narrowed where he stood at Qui-Gon's side. The Jedi Master had almost forgotten he was there. "Every so often, he'll visit the block to look over the new acquisitions. Kind of like a farmer looking over the new head of cattle that his lackeys are proposing to buy." There was no friendliness in his tone.   
  
The slave lord's eyes seemed to be fastened on Obi-Wan, even as he talked briefly with the other dealers on the stand. Obi-Wan returned his gaze coolly, hands resting lightly in his lap, looking utterly serene. Qui-Gon had to bite his lip to keep from calling out; did that boy have any idea how irresistible he was? He seemed to rise above the chaos and greed surrounding him, untouched by it, transcending it in a way that suggested he was the one in control here. Was that what L'rell had meant when he said that any potential buyer would be seduced by him? Had he always been this way? Why had he never noticed it before?   
  
His thoughts froze as Arvala moved toward his Padawan. There was something predatory about the way he advanced on him, something that suggested he was not used to having his will defied. Obi-Wan showed no trace of fear as the man stopped in front of him, looking down at him without compassion, as if he were appraising a new piece of furniture. Rough fingers touched Obi-Wan's cheek, tilted his chin up so the big man could look full in his face. Obi-Wan met the hard gaze calmly, accepting the touch without flinching.   
  
Qui-Gon tried to remain detached from the scene playing out in front of him, but his heart was pounding. Obi-Wan's thoughts were completely blocked off from him, leaving him no clue as to what his Padawan was feeling.   
  
Then Arvala leaned down, twining his fingers firmly in Obi-Wan's hair, and pressed his lips to Obi-Wan's. Qui-Gon watched, fascinated, as the man's coarse blond beard scraped against his apprentice's cheek, reddening it slightly. Obi-Wan's eyes drifted shut; still there was not a hint of emotion leaking past his mental shields, although a muscle in his neck twitched once before going still. Qui-Gon could see that Arvala had his tongue in his apprentice's mouth.   
  
Abruptly, Arvala pulled away, releasing him. Obi-Wan swayed a moment, looking slightly bewildered, then caught himself. His lips were swollen and moist, his face and neck flushed with a light blush of color. It was the most beautiful sight that Qui-Gon had ever seen.   
  
A murmur of appreciation rippled through the crowd. Apparently Arvala had finished with his inspection, because Obi-Wan was being led off the stage with two other slaves while money changed hands. Qui-Gon had to force himself not to run after him. //Obi-Wan,// he called, desperately.   
  
//I'll be fine, Master.// The mental communication sounded broken, hollow without the emotion that usually accompanied it.   
  
Then he was being covered once again in the sweeping folds of his robe, and Kanda handed his lead over to another man. Qui-Gon watched, heartsick, as he was led away through the crowd.   
  
And then he was gone. 

* * *

  
The hovercar brought them to a towering, gothic-like structure at the far end of the city. Obi-Wan took the time to meditate, trying to get his treacherous emotions under control. It had been harder than he'd thought it would be, putting himself up for sale like that. In fact, it had been well nigh impossible. He could still feel the eyes of the crowd on him, coolly predatory. It made his skin crawl.   
  
At least he was semi-clothed again. He took in his surroundings with interest as he was led inside the building, impressed by the sweeping archways and fluted columns that lined the front courtyard. There was a peacefulness to the way the golden-leafed trees of the garden leaned over him, showering the ground in shimmering petals. He breathed deeply, appreciating the sweet scent of the blossoms. He shared a glance with the young man next to him, who had also been bought at the auction this morning. He was golden-skinned and shadow-eyed, his delicate face taut with apprehension.   
  
A sharp tug on the lead at his neck enticed him to stop gawking at the scenery, and he was led deep into the building down a long, winding hallway. The decor here was simple yet elegant, not overstated in any way. The man who escorted him didn't once look in his direction, or even acknowledge his presence here. He may very well have been invisible, or at least some kind of exotic housepet being taken for a walk. The thought amused him greatly.   
  
The room at the end of the hall was open to the sky. In its center, a tall tree raised spreading branches to couch the chamber in welcoming shade. It was surrounded by a circular stone bench, which in turn was surrounded by many smaller stone tables and chairs. There was a low chittering of birdcall coming from somewhere up in the branches.   
  
There were several other people here, lounging on the benches, enjoying the serenity of the small, stone garden. Obi-Wan's eyes fell immediately on the only offworlder in the place, a tall human woman with a cascade of long, black hair. She was smiling at him. He gave her a tentative smile in return.   
  
"What's your name?" she asked him, as he stopped in front of her.   
  
"Obi-Wan," he replied, still hesitant. No one else was paying any attention to him.   
  
"I'm Dany." There was a kindness in her deep gray eyes that he liked immediately, although he was loath to trust anyone here. Her face was too sharply defined to be considered actively beautiful, but her small, slightly upturned nose gave her an impish look that was somehow even more appealing. She was young, maybe twenty-five, certainly no more than a couple of years older than him at best.   
  
"Are you going to take him?" His escort sounded impatient. Dany gave him a sideways glance and nodded.   
  
"That is what they pay me for, isn't it?" she said.   
  
The escort grunted and then handed her the lead. Without a word, he turned and stalked off, leaving Obi-Wan wondering what in the worlds had just happened.   
  
"Come sit with me," Dany invited, and it truly sounded like an invitation and not a command. Obi-Wan moved with her to one of the small tables and sat down. He was surprised when she reached across the table to remove the leather collar from his neck and, coiling up the length of the lead, set it aside. She seemed amused by his reaction. "These are mainly to insure that new trainees don't panic and bolt before they make it here to the citadel. You're not going to attack me or anything now, are you?" A dimple appeared in her left cheek when she grinned at him.   
  
"No." He looked around, feeling rather lost. The other two slaves that had come in with him were being turned over to the care of others as well. "Who are you?"   
  
"I'm your handler. Every new trainee has one. It'll be my job to see to your physical needs and training, and to insure that you adjust to your new life with a minimum of anxiety."   
  
"My 'handler?'" he said incredulously. "What am I, a piece of livestock that needs to be kept under control?"   
  
She was silent for a moment, as if considering how best to respond. "We're big on control here, Obi-Wan," she said at last. "Either you have it, or you don't. Once you understand that, the rest is easy."   
  
He considered that for a moment, before being distracted once again by the low chitter of birdsong. It was all so peaceful, so calming. "Was it your idea to have this meeting here? Not very subtle, I have to say."   
  
She laughed. "It's kind of a company decision. A lot of the new trainees that come in here are at their wit's end, so to speak. They've been taken from their homes and their families, everything that's familiar to them. They're scared, and they're desperate. As handlers, it makes our job easier if we have a neutral place to introduce ourselves in."   
  
"And this doesn't bother you?" he queried, meeting her gaze levelly.   
  
Her smile faded, although she didn't look away. "It isn't exactly as if I have a choice, Obi-Wan. I don't have any more to say about being here than you do. If I can make the adjustment process easier for you, well, then at least I'm doing something, aren't I?"   
  
He didn't know what to say to that. Part of him still chafed at the very idea of slavery, even though it was a world he had willingly immersed himself in.   
  
"What do you say we go find you something to eat?" It was an obvious effort to change the subject. "You've got to be hungry after such a long day. Tell me, were you mistreated in any way? Are you hurting anywhere? I give a mean massage, and if you'd like, I can draw you a bath later. We've got tons of hot water here, not like in the outlying villages."   
  
He nodded absently, barely aware of what she was saying. This wasn't what he had been expecting at all. Somehow, that made the shock of captivity even more difficult to come to terms with. He sent a brief thread of reassurance to his Master, then quickly closed down his mental shields again. He was feeling very confused and alone right now, and it would only worry Qui-Gon if he knew the depth of his student's inner turmoil.   
  
*Maybe it won't be so bad after all,* he thought, as he allowed Dany to lead him from the room.  
  
Maybe. 

* * *

  
Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan's presence in his mind for only the barest of seconds, but the comfort of that brief touch was extraordinary. He smiled in relief as he caught the sense of peacefulness, of serenity, that flowed through him, coupled with the slightest hint of disorientation. So he was confused about his new situation; that was to be expected. But other than that he seemed to be doing well, and that was all that mattered to Qui-Gon.   
  
He looked up at the tall building that he and L'rell were about to enter. It was three stories high, its facade polished to a high silver shine. The sign over the door identified it as the "Hot Spot." Qui-Gon did not think, judging by the name alone, that it would be a place he would enjoy visiting.   
  
L'rell's spies had suggested that the men who had sold M'kal worked through a pimp named Trelaf, who oftentimes frequented this establishment. And while they had loose general descriptions of the perpetrators - there had been two of them, one tall and dark, the othher shorter and fair-haired -it wasn't a whole lot to go on. Qui-Gon was hoping that a discreet investigation would turn up some more clues.   
  
The inside of the club was loud and grungy, the lighting kept at an almost intolerably low level. There had to be some kind of forcefield across the doorway, because as soon as he stepped in, he was assaulted by a cacophony of sound that only after several minutes did he recognize as the chords of a local heth-band. It set his teeth on edge and vibrated his eyeballs in his head, but he did his best to ignore it as he followed L'rell further into the building.   
  
The main room was filled near to bursting with dozens of wildly gyrating figures, caught up in the frenzy of a wild dance that he couldn't even begin to fathom the nuances of. About half of them were from off-world, and the occasional tentacle or branched eyestalk showed above the heads of the crowd.   
  
L'rell moved to the counter against the back wall, carefully keeping to the edges of the dance floor, practically hugging the wall to keep from being swept into the wildly thrashing pit of young dancers. Qui-Gon erected a temporary Force-shield around them to fend off the heedlessly reckless bodies.   
  
Having successfully navigated the dance floor and arrived unscathed at the bar, L'rell leaned over toward the droid bartender and asked for Trelaf. The droid directed them to the second floor, where they found Trelaf engaged in plying his sundry trade. A few terse words with the Mynarxian, and they were shown to the common area where his employees rested between tricks. These were primarily offworld types who had chosen to sell their bodies for uses that the Red Temple slaves generally were not trained for; they tended to be as exotic as they were expensive. L'rell began the process of interrogating them for information about the identity of M'kal's kidnappers.   
  
Qui-Gon wondered what could possibly entice a sentient creature to live its life like this. He thought about his Obi-Wan - *my* Obi-Wan? - being held in a place like this and felt vaguely sickened by the image it presented him with. His Padawan was so innocent, so inexperienced when it came to the evils that the universe had to offer. Of course he had stepped into this willingly, with his eyes wide open, but he still had no idea what was in store for him.   
  
//Be strong, Obi-Wan,// he sent, with little hope of receiving a reply. His apprentice's mind was firmly closed to him.   
  
With an effort, he turned his attention back to the alien whores in front of him, trying to sort through the information they were eagerly offering - something about L'rell threatening to take away their visas had convinced them to be unusually forthcoming. Despite their apparent amiability, however, he sensed an aura of danger about them that kept him on his guard.   
  
//Be safe, Obi-Wan.// 

* * *

  
Obi-Wan slept poorly that night. He had his own sparsely furnished room in a long, dormitory-like hall of slave quarters. It was small, but the privacy it offered was unexpectedly welcome. He still felt nervous and on edge, even though his "handler" seemed to be honestly interested in his welfare. He had passed up her offer of a massage last night, and only at her teasing insistence could he bring himself to eat dinner. Then, claiming fatigue, he had asked to retire early and was shown to his room. Only there did he feel relatively safe.   
  
There were dozens of slaves here at the citadel, each of them in the training phase of their initiation. Most of them were Arambulan, but he did spot the occasional offworlder among them. They walked the halls with downcast eyes, led by their individual handlers, clothed in nothing but the admiring looks that followed them. There was something unaccountably tragic to the way they accepted their fate.   
  
Dany came for him a couple of hours after dawn the next morning. He was already awake, lounging back on his small bed and gazing through the slit of a window at the courtyard below. Of course it wasn't big enough for anything larger than a Setti eel to fit through, so it provided little in the way of a view.   
  
The sharp rap of a knock at the door roused him, and he had to grin at this attempt at courtesy. She'd locked the door when she brought him here last night, so he'd had little choice but to remain here at her will. Of course, locked doors were small obstacle to a Jedi, but he was perfectly content to remain where he was for the time being.   
  
"Good morning." Her smile was welcoming as she stepped into the room. She was dressed today in an outfit similar to the one Qui-Gon had worn, except that the deep green of her tunic had a decidedly feminine cut to it. It was tied at her narrow waist with an even darker green sash. "I hope you slept well."   
  
He shrugged. "As well as could be expected, I guess."   
  
She nodded, understanding. "It'll get easier, once you have time to adjust." She'd brought him a tray of poached eggs and toast, with a full tumbler of dark blue juice. The sight of it was not at all appealing to him, but once again, she insisted that he eat. "We have no desire to see you grow weak from exhaustion and hunger," she said with a wry smile. "So eat. It's my reputation on the line if I let you faint during our exercise today."   
  
He acquiesced then, and she handed him the tray as he leaned back against the headboard of his bed, drawing his knees up in front of him. "'Exercise?'" he queried, as he started to eat.   
  
She nodded. "Your training starts today. Now, I don't want you to be afraid. I'll be right there with you. Some of the initiates find it a little rough, but if you keep calm and do exactly as I tell you, you'll be just fine."   
  
He wasn't sure whether to be comforted or not by her gentle warning. In either case, her words sent a thrill of dark emotion running through him that he couldn't quite identify, and he hid his confusion by taking a long swig of his juice. It was surprisingly good. "Is this the Red Temple?" he asked at last, eyes taking in the pale walls around him. "I heard it mentioned when I was brought here to the city."   
  
"No, the Red Temple isn't really a physical place. It's more of a euphemism for the slave market itself, from the citadels to the brothels to the privately owned harems. You'll come to understand, once you've been here a while."   
  
After he finished eating, she took the tray from him and set it aside. "Okay, now, the first thing we have to do is get rid of that robe."   
  
He stared at her blankly.   
  
She smiled encouragingly, and he realized that this was the first step of his training. The thick fabric of his cloak had been like armor for him up until now, keeping him somewhat apart from the other slaves in the citadel, at least in his own mind. To give it up would be to bare himself in more than a physical way.   
  
"Dany. . ." he began, trying to explain this to her, but then he fell silent. He could tell by the compassion in her eyes that she already knew what it was she asked.   
  
This was ridiculous. If he couldn't do this simple thing, how could he expect himself to go through with the rest of it? Bracing himself, he shrugged out of the coarse fabric and let it slide down his shoulders. He sat there, holding himself rigid, refusing to meet her eyes.   
  
The smile she favored him with was warm and approving. "That's good, Obi-Wan. You're doing fine." She gestured toward the half-open door. "Are you ready?"   
  
He realized that she wanted him to go with her, naked, out into the halls of the citadel. The thought made him blush furiously.   
  
"Would it be easier if we used the collar again?" she asked mildly. "I can go and get it, if you'd like."   
  
There was surprising gentleness in the offer. Maybe it would be less difficult for him with a physical reminder of his submissive status. Yet even the thought of it was humiliating. "No," he said stiffly, glaring at her. "That won't be necessary."   
  
She did not take offense at his tone. Together, they moved out of the room and down the corridor. Obi-Wan kept his eyes firmly affixed to the floor in front of his feet, refusing to look at anything around him. In his mind, he recited all of the calming litanies that he had ever been taught, drawing on the strength of the Force to calm his rapidly pounding heart. He almost laughed at his distress; he could fight mercenaries and terrorists and all kinds of murderous nasties without a second thought, but walking naked through the halls of this place was making him fall completely apart.   
  
It was more than his nakedness, though, he realized. It was the fact that he was a slave, and the gazes he felt raking down his hot skin were coldly calculating in their approval of him. He was very glad suddenly for Dany's presence at his side.   
  
They came to a broad, low-ceilinged room with a darkly carpeted floor. It was empty except for some loosely scattered robes hanging against one wall. Dany stopped and looked at him cautiously. "How are you holding up?" she asked.   
  
"I'm fine." It wasn't exactly true, but what did it matter? It wasn't as if he had a choice in any of this, anyway. The thought was oddly comforting somehow.   
  
He could tell that she wasn't fooled, but she chose not to comment on it. "We've got a few minutes, so I want you to listen to a few things that I have to say." She dropped down to sit cross-legged on the thick carpet, motioning for him to join her. He did. The carpet tickled the bare skin of his ass. "Here at the citadel, we really only have one lesson to teach - submission. It is the duty of every slave to submit to his master. Do you understand that, Obi-Wan?"   
  
He hesitated, the obvious answer freezing on his lips. Of course he *knew* that it was a slave's duty to submit, but did he really understand what that meant?   
  
She took his silence as a negative and nodded her approval. "Always be honest with yourself, Obi-Wan. Don't be afraid of your feelings. It's okay to be afraid, to fell lost or ill-treated or alone. You're a slave, and your destiny is not your own." She sounded sad when she said it. "But never forget that you are a person of worth, no matter what happens to you. Just do your duty, and no one can ever take that away from you."   
  
Before he could think of an adequate response to that, the door to the room was opening, and three men stepped inside. There was a coarse look about them that made Obi-Wan tense immediately, even as he took in their unkempt appearances and met the sharp hunger of their eyes. His heart suddenly felt like it was in his throat, and for a moment he found it hard to breathe.   
  
Dany's light hand on his knee steadied him. She beckoned for the men to come closer, then turned back to Obi-Wan. "Remember what I told you," she said quietly, holding his gaze steadily. He realized he was shaking.   
  
The first of the men came up to him - he had a bright shock of reddish-brown hair - and Dany slid back a few feet, still holding his gaze with her own. He took comfort from her presence as the man's heavy hand touched his hair, stroking gently. Then, without warning, the hand balled into a fist and hit him square in the side of the head.   
  
He reeled, taken completely off-guard, and fell hard to the floor, barely managing to catch his weight on his hands. His head was spinning. He heard coarse laughter coming from the other two men as their red-haired compatriot reached down and pulled him up by his hair. Rough lips pressed against his ear, and then a low voice was whispering to him, cutting through the fog in his brain. "I'd suggest you give your attention to me and not your handler, little bitch." Obi-Wan cringed from the scathing amusement in those words.   
  
Then a brutal hand was pulling determinedly at his cock, and his hips bucked involuntarily under the sudden stimulation. The hair at the back of his head was still being held in a vise-like grip, bringing tears to his eyes, and he quickly determined that struggling only made it worse. He was terrified; never in a million years had he ever thought it could be like this, so savage, so cold. He was completely at the mercy of these men, and the thought sent him spinning into a mindless panic.   
  
His hoarse cries went completely unheeded. The other two men were on him now, pawing at his trembling body, one of them leaning in to steal a wet kiss. He jerked his head away abruptly and earned a stinging slap across the face for his trouble. Dany's voice spoke in a caution that he couldn't quite hear, and another hot kiss fell on his cheek, his nose. He squirmed away from them, hating the feel of hot breath on his face. He was painfully erect now, as the hands that stroked him to life teased the skin and sensitive folds around his balls.   
  
Then he was being shoved to the floor, his chest and knees scraping against the stiff carpet. He cried out, searching frantically for Dany. With a sob, his anguish poured from him in a torrent of words. "No, Dany, please, I can't, I thought I could do this but I can't, I can't..." He was babbling, and although he knew he was babbling he couldn't seem to stop. He struggled ferociously, whipping his body around, trying to squirm out from under the hurting hands that held him. A rocking blow hit him across the head, leaving him dizzy, and he kicked out reflexively, his foot connecting with something that screamed in pain. Vicious fingers caught in his hair, pulling his head back, baring his throat to the leather lash that was looped around his neck. Coarse laughter as his hands were wrenched behind his back, his wrists bound together with the opposite end of the same lash. His struggles were less violent now, as his movements were restricted by his bonds, and he shied away as strong fingers pinched painfully at his ass.   
  
"Easy, Obi-Wan. Easy, love. Come on, now, shh. . ." Dany was on one knee next to him suddenly, smoothing back the sweat-dampened hair at the side of his face. Her cool, gray eyes were an anchor to him. "That's it now, just relax. . ."   
  
"It hurts," he whispered, tears burning in his eyes. The leather bit cruelly into his wrists and throat, chafing across the slickness of newly drawn blood. He ached everywhere from the blows they'd rained on him.   
  
"I know it does, love." There was sympathy in her tone. "Just relax, and it'll all be over soon." She continued to smooth his hair with her palm, murmuring soft encouragement, and he found himself quieting under the hypnotic rhythm of caresses and words.   
  
Now that he was semi-quiescent, his attackers settled down to the serious business of using his body for its intended purpose. Their hands on him turned sensual, exploring every part of his smooth flesh that they could reach. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, focusing on Dany's softly spoken words, and tried to fade away from what was going on around him. His erection throbbed painfully where it was trapped between his stomach and the carpet.   
  
Then he felt the weight settle down across the backs of his thighs, and his eyes flew open in a panic. Immediately, Dany was in front of him, her gaze holding him. "Look at me, Obi-Wan," she whispered, cupping his face between her hands. "Just look at me. That's it. It'll be all over in a minute, and then we'll head back to the commons. A nice, hot bath, think about how good it'll feel, all that hot, fresh water, and then a massage, it'll be wonderful, Obi-Wan, just hang in there..."   
  
Her softly spoken words couldn't be loud enough for anyone to hear but him. They became the world to him, the sole focus for his trembling sanity, and he gladly gave up all pretense of control to the gentle timbre of her voice. He kept his eyes locked to hers, tasting the bitter salt of the tears that slid down his face. She smiled at him encouragingly.   
  
When the first cock pushed into him, his body bucked in violent protest. It hurt, oh gods, it hurt, despite the lube that covered it, and he sucked in his breath as the pain spread through him. Dany's voice faded to an incomprehensible buzzing as he thrashed madly under the weight of the man who raped him. Hands closed on him from both sides, holding him down. He could hear Dany yelling now, telling them to be careful, bbut it meant nothing to him. All of his attention was focused on the cock in his ass, and the sharp, searing pain that was even now beginning to melt away.   
  
How easy it would be to give into his humiliation and rage, to tap into the latent Force around him and throw all of them as far away from him as he could. He could practically see the expressions on their faces. There was absolutely no reason why he had to give in to this indignity, this injustice, not when he had the power to-   
  
Unbidden, Qui-Gon's voice appeared in his memory: *Power is a double-edged sword. As you grow in your skills as a Jedi, you will find that the temptation to misuse that power never goes away entirely. Be certain, whenever you use it, that it is for the common good.*   
  
Something inside of him howled at his Master's teaching, denying the calm truth behind those gently spoken words, but he was bound as ever to his Master's will. He whimpered under the onslaught of rampant greed and choking lust that surrounded him, invaded him, and tried to remember that he was doing this for a reason. To deny that would be to condemn an innocent to a fate that he was only beginning to understand. And that he could not do.   
  
After they were finished with him, they left him lying there, bruised and spent. Dany came up to him slowly, without saying anything, sitting back on her heels next to his shoulder and giving him time to recover. When she felt he was ready, she pulled a little knife from her belt and cut him free. Still, he did not move.   
  
"Come on, love," she said softly, drawing him gently to his feet. He followed her, unresisting, as a shawl of palest down was draped around his shoulders. It felt deliciously soft next to his fevered skin.   
  
He was barely aware of it when she steered him back towards the common area where the slaves were quartered. His thoughts were still swirling in a state akin to shock, trying to come to grips with the reality of this frighteningly sensual world. Conflicting emotions surged through him, a morass of feelings that he couldn't begin to put a name to.   
  
He had submitted. He had done his duty as a slave, and he had submitted. What more could possibly be asked of him? 

* * *

  
"Don't worry about them," she told him fiercely, strong hands rubbing skillfully into the protesting muscles of his back. Despite himself, he felt himself relaxing as the heat of the oil spread through his body. "They're low-born. Arvala uses them for training sometimes, but I can all but guarantee you'll never see them again. You did very well this morning."   
  
"Why?" he gasped out, almost delirious as the pleasure of her touch worked through him. His eyes were tightly closed.   
  
"Why does Arvala use them? Or why did you do so well?" She sounded amused.   
  
"Why does he use them?" he clarified, trying to rein in his blissfully rampant thoughts.   
  
She worked her thumbs into a particularly tight area at the base of his neck, and he groaned softly. "They're useful," she replied simply. "He doesn't use them on every slave, but on the defiant ones they seem to be particularly effective."   
  
That made him raise his head in protest. "I'm not defiant."   
  
She smirked at him, as if sharing a deep secret. "Oh, but you are. If you could only see yourself."   
  
"But I've done everything you asked me to!" He could not leave it alone.   
  
"Yes, I know. And I have never seen such a dignified, graceful way of submitting in all the years that I've been here." She shrugged. "I wouldn't worry about it too much. After all, it's my problem to deal with, not yours. I'm the one responsible for seeing that you're trained properly."   
  
"How long will I be here?" His head sank back down onto the folded pillow of his arms.   
  
"Not more than a few weeks, I'd say. You're too pretty to hang around this place for long. He'll be moving you to the palace before long, I'll wager. Tomorrow we'll move out into the city and work the brothels for a bit. It's good experience, and it'll earn the master some coin besides."   
  
For some reason, the thrill that passed through him at the thought was suspiciously unlike fear. He shifted uncomfortably. He still ached inside where those three men's cocks had stroked him.   
  
She let him nap for a while that afternoon, and afterwards he was pretty much free to roam where he would. He used the time to get a feel for the vastness of the citadel, and even struck up conversations with a few of the other slaves. They were all recently acquired, just as he was, so they had nothing to offer in the way of finding M'kal. Obi-Wan wasn't disheartened, however. If they were indeed going to go out into the city in a few days, then he would have plenty of opportunities to locate the governor's wayward son. Even if he had been purchased by someone other than Arvala, he should be easy enough to locate.   
  
That night, he crawled gratefully into his bed, exhaustion rolling over him in great, slow waves. Apparently he was more tired than he'd thought after his long day. Dany smiled as she helped pull the blankets up to his chin, and leaned down to touch her lips lightly to the skin above his eyes. "Good-night, Obi-Wan. Get lots of rest tonight. You'll be working hard tomorrow, and we won't be coming back here for a while."   
  
He was already drifting off as he heard the door close, accompanied by the light click of the lock being engaged. He barely had the presence of mind to send a tendril of contented thought to his Master before falling asleep. 

* * *

  
"Sure, I know him. His name is Emil Marr." Argentyna was a tall, whip-thin Deltian, her skin an unbroken shade of silver like liquid mercury. Her metallic hair seemed to float around her narrow face in a perpetual state of fluid motion, bizarre and distracting in a surprisingly sensual way. She was dressed in a strange costume made entirely of slowly moving light which covered her like a shimmering curtain, alternately revealing more or less of her body as she moved.   
  
"Where can we find him?" Qui-Gon asked, with just a touch of impatience. It had been nearly a week since he'd first come to Nhil-Rhar, and he was more than a little worried about the lack of communication from Obi-Wan.   
  
He and L'rell had visited just about every free-run brothel in Nhil-Rhar, following the trail of an increasingly ghost-like chain of information. Everyone they talked to seemed to know someone who knew someone who knew someone who might know who it was that sold M'kal at the auction that day, but this was the first time anyone had been able to provide them with anything as concrete as a name.   
  
Argentyna shrugged. "He stops by here on occasion, but he's small time. I'm not sure where he gets the money to afford me, really." There was no boasting in her tone, just a cold statement of fact. "If you really want to find him, I'd try to find that guy he's always hanging around with. I don't know his name, but he has some pretty particular tastes. Our matron barred him from ever coming in here again, after what he did to one of the girls. You might try checking out some of the Temple houses; they probably wouldn't be as particular about how he treats their commodities." 

* * *

  
Obi-Wan spent some time in the brothels then, where his nights were spent face-down on an endless series of different beds, oftentimes with his wrists tied together over his head. For the right amount of coin, any stranger could use him. It was strangely comforting in its own way, because it didn't require him to think; as long as his body was made available to them, they had no interest in obeisance. Dany stayed with him through all of it, offering encouragement and advice, and it wasn't long before he settled into the routine of it.   
  
His days were spent looking for M'kal, and snatching what sleep he could. At least he was allowed to wear his brown robe when he walked the streets of the city. Dany never left his side, and he guessed that she was there as much to keep him from running away as she was to train him. It said something interesting about the trust she had in him, that she would let him walk around uncollared.   
  
He got to know some of the other slaves in the city, and there was a strange camaraderie between them that he couldn't quite explain. Tall, thin Lilith, dark Nychelle, quiet Lyruth, the broad-chested K'vain. Many of them had been here for years, and nothing seemed to phase them. The night that Nychelle was set upon by a particularly amorous lover, her wounds so severe that she had to spend the next three days in hospice, Obi-Wan had flown into a blinding rage. The others, however, merely shrugged it off as the hazards of the job. Their calmly accepting stoicism horrified him more than anything he had thus far experienced.   
  
It frustrated him that he could find no sign of M'kal. Oh, there were those who remembered seeing him, but it was close to a month ago that he had last been spotted in the brothels. No one knew what had happened to him. Obi-Wan was struck by a sudden fear that he had been sold to a new master in another city, or even off-planet, but the stories he heard seemed to suggest otherwise. There were endless comments made about M'kal's dark, soulful eyes, his smooth limbs, the quiet, smoldering eroticism of his voice. Many of the slaves professed undying love for him, much the same as many of them seemed to be in love with Obi-Wan himself. Even some of the customers expressed disappointment at the loss of their favorite bedtoy, although Obi-Wan was quickly becoming a favorite in his own right. He had regular customers now, who asked for him by name. He hated lying with these people most of all.   
  
No, the master would never have given away such a valuable slave. M'kal was still here in Nhil-Rhar, somewhere. He was still puzzling on where else to look when Dany told him they had to leave the brothels and return to the citadel. It was time for the next phase of his training to begin.

* * *

  
The "Hunted Lord" was just a pleasure house, like a hundred others that they'd visited over the past couple of weeks, but there was something darkly disturbing about it that Qui-Gon picked up on as soon as he stepped through the door. Maybe it was the decor - a chilling combination of rough-cut stone walls and hanging leather, with an uncomfortably inadequate amount of lighting - or maybe it was just the curious change in the Force that he sensed coming from inside. It didn't *feel* like any of the other brothels he'd been to thus far, although he could detect the same aura of eroticism and raw sexual energy coming from within.   
  
They were met at the door by an eight-foot-tall Gamorrean, who called them "sir" and asked politely to see their credit vouchers before allowing them inside. Qui-Gon's hand itched suddenly for the lightsaber that was nestled at his back, hidden beneath the concealing folds of his cloak.   
  
The Master of the house was a tall, whip-thin Arambulan named Abetos, whose skin was a darker gold than any of the other natives that Qui-Gon had seen thus far. His gaze flickered over them coolly, appraisingly, when L'rell asked if he knew the identity of the man who often accompanied Emil Marr. Qui-Gon sensed immediately that he *did* know, and that the gentleman was a customer who frequented his establishment quite often. Of course, this meant that he would not be willing to help them, and Qui-Gon ground his teeth in frustration.   
  
While Abetos graced them with a sufficiently ambiguous reply, one of the slaves came up to him with downcast eyes, falling to his knees before his lord owner. Qui-Gon saw that he held something in his open hands, proffering it like an offering.   
  
"Please, Master," the young man said in a soft whisper, the sensuality of those two words giving Qui-Gon a slow thrill. His golden skin seemed touched by an almost supernatural luster, making him glow, a vision of exquisite beauty.   
  
Abetos hesitated, then touched the silken black hair of his slave's head in a gesture of unmistakable tenderness. He glanced at Qui-Gon and L'rell, a slow smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "Would you excuse me for a moment, gentlemen?"   
  
L'rell murmured an acknowledgment, but Qui-Gon's eyes were fixed on the patiently waiting slave. Abetos took the item that was being offered him, and with some degree of shock Qui-Gon realized that it was a whip.   
  
The dark-haired slave moved to a waist-high wooden bench and leaned himself sensuously against it, revealing the soft curve of his back and the dark cleft of his buttocks. Taking his weight forward on his locked arms and arranging his feet a good distance apart to balance himself, he waited in breathless expectation.   
  
Qui-Gon was just as breathless, his eyes glued to the scene unfolding in front of him. Abetos played the length of the long whip between his fingers for a moment, as though examining it for flaws, and tapped its handle against his thigh a couple of times, testing the resiliency of it. It was apparent to Qui-Gon that he had done this many times. The slave waiting for him began to tense as the seconds drew out and nothing happened, unable to fight the slow rise of anticipation.   
  
That seemed to be what Abetos was waiting for. Without warning, he uncoiled his wrist in an almost leisurely fashion, and the whip snaked out to lick at the young man's shoulder. The slave's muscles stiffened, and a low moan was wrung from him, his hips driving forward into the low table. Sweat glistened on the golden skin of his back.   
  
Qui-Gon stared at the narrow line of bright red blood that appeared on that smooth skin, exactly where the whip had touched him. Incredibly, he could sense the passion pouring off of this young man - he actually *liked* what was being done to him. This realization brought a low moan to his own lips, which he cut off immediately. Even so, he couldn't stop himself from imagining Obi-Wan being held to this task, enduring the pain of the whip, his beautiful body shimmering in the light. Liking it...   
  
Abruptly, he turned and stalked out of the brothel, his thoughts a swirl of confusing and conflicting emotions. He didn't look back. 

* * *

  
Obi-Wan had believed, at other times in his life, that he knew what terror was. Those memories seemed laughable compared to what he felt now. There was a musky signature to the air down here, an overwhelming combination of sweat and semen and leather and pain that set his head to spinning. He had to lean against the wall for support, sucking in great lungfuls of air. "I cannot do this," he pronounced firmly, and realized he was shaking.   
  
"Of course you can." Dany's hand on his arm was cooling. "It's just another part of your training, no different from anything else."   
  
"No different-!" He choked off the words, enraged without knowing why. "What can this possibly have to do with having sex? That, I understand. The giving of pleasure, I understand. But this..."   
  
"And how do you know what to expect if you don't already understand it?" she countered slyly, watching him. There was no response he could make to that. How could he explain to her what his Jedi senses felt behind that closed door? All of the terror, all of the fear, all of the pain and lust and twisted desire that sane men felt only in nightmares was seething in that chamber, pressing up against the door like some unspeakable beast trying to get out. It horrified him, even as it called to him. *Come join us,* it seemed to say. *Come join in our games, for you are one of us.*   
  
He took a horrified step back, and only Dany's grip on his arm kept him from turning tail and bolting back up the stairs. He was nearly hyperventilating.   
  
"Calm down," she told him sharply, and there was real concern in her eyes. "Come on, Obi-Wan, work with me now. You're strong enough for this; I know you are. Come on, love, you know I'd never let anything bad happen to you. Breathe, Obi-Wan. Come on, now..." Once again, her calm words soothed him. It didn't seem to matter what she was saying; just the sound of her voice was enough to lend him strength.   
  
He forced himself to remember why he was here. He thought about M'kal, lost and scared and alone, being forced to go through this same "training" without any sensitivity to the Force or Jedi-honed survival skills to set him free if he desired it. His only hope was that someone might find him and pull him out of this waking nightmare. Obi-Wan was, quite literally, his last and only chance for freedom.   
  
That thought decided it for him. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he drew on the Force for courage. *For a Jedi, there is only peace.* When he was sure that he'd gotten himself under control again, he turned back to Dany. "Let's get this over with."   
  
She seemed taken aback by his sudden change in composure, but didn't question it. Tugging gently on his arm, she said, "Come on, Obi-Wan."   
  
He obeyed, moving with her down the hall to the small, black door that marked the entrance to what was commonly referred to as the Pit. His iron control lasted all the way until the door opened and he stepped inside. Then the full horror of the place hit him, and he felt the unmistakable instinct to run, run as far and as fast as he could. But by then the door was closed behind him and he knew without trying that he would not be able to open it.   
  
The Pit was a mausoleum of pain. Obi-Wan's fevered glance took in towering wooden supports hung with dangling chains, broad tables where dark bodies writhed in captive torment, high platforms where the torture was a spectacle for all in the room to see. No windows, no doors except the one he had come through. Leather-clad overseers loomed over it all, doling out punishment or reward as their moods led them. The air was filled with the sounds of harsh cries, panting breaths, the sharp, wet cracking of whips hitting tender flesh. Obi-Wan's nostrils flared as he took in the scents that swirled around him. So much terror, so much pain ... and yet ...   
  
And yet through it all there was a sinuous, unifying thread. It took him a moment to identify it, and the realization took his breath away: pleasure. The pleasure ran through the pain and through the fear until it became a part of it, indistinguishable one from the other. He shook his head in furious denial, disbelieving. How could *this* be considered pleasurable? And yet ... and yet ...   
  
Dany was watching him carefully, keeping silent, letting him drink it in. He really didn't know what to make of it all, and as he was enveloped by the sensory overload of the place, he realized that there comes a point at which the mind just is not capable of feeling any more fear. A dreamy sort of lassitude stole over him then, as he understood the vital truth behind the Pit: no choice. Nothing he could do would possibly make any difference to the outcome of this evening, so there was really no point in doing anything at all. They would have what they wanted from him, whether he willed it or no. For the first time, he realized just what it meant to be a slave.   
  
"This way, Obi-Wan." She pulled on his arm, drawing him further into the room. He followed, unresisting, swooning under the chorus of deep moans, passionate cries, voices crying out for one kind of release or another. It was just too much to focus on, and he kept his gaze firmly rooted to the floor in front of his feet as he walked. It was a wooden floor, highly polished, highly ... sensual ... in its deep amber shine. His mind was curiously blank.   
  
They stopped suddenly, and Obi-Wan looked up to see two of the overseers standing before him. They were bare-chested, their bodies crossed by an X of thick leather straps, their legs and hands similarly clad in soft, black leather. There was something terrifying about them, but at the same time exciting in a darkly erotic way. Obi-Wan shook his head, upset by the conflicting emotions that churned inside of him. What was wrong with him?   
  
Dany was giving them curt instructions, which they seemed to accept readily enough. Apparently handlers held a higher place on the totem pole of power than overseers did, at least when it came to trainees. The thought comforted him somewhat; if Dany was in control, then maybe everything would be all right after all.   
  
Then the two men turned to face him, and the spell was broken. The fear returned like a blow to the stomach. "Dany..." he pleaded, taking a half-step backwards, but then strong hands were latched onto his arms, pulling him forward. He couldn't stop himself from struggling, but his enraged movements seemed to go completely unnoticed by his captors. He was forced to his knees between two sweeping pillars, his hands shoved passionlessly into leather cuffs that hung from either side. He fought like a wild thing, managing to land a savage bite in the back of one of those large hands, and earned a fierce blow upside the head that left him reeling - "Watch out for the face!" he heard Dany order sharply. He tasted blood in his mouth, but whether it was his or his attacker's, he couldn't say.   
  
He knelt there, arms spread to either side, chest heaving with heated breaths. The cuffs were cinched tight around his wrists, but the soft leather did not cut into his skin. He tugged at them futilely, feeling wretched and exposed, hating the feel of it, hating the men who had bound him here, hating Dany, hating himself. How easy it would be to use the Force to spring open his bonds, to confuse his tormentors enough for him to make a clean escape. For one wild moment, he was going to do it, just end it all here and now.   
  
But that would hardly help M'kal, now would it? He took a deep breath to steady himself, surprised to find that his cheeks were wet with tears. For the first time, he noticed that Dany was kneeling in front of him. She gave him a little, knowing smile.   
  
"It's hard, isn't it?" she said. "Letting go."   
  
He didn't understand what she meant, couldn't think past the fear that surged through him. But despite it all, his cock was rampantly erect. He didn't want to think too hard about what that might mean.   
  
He whimpered, the only sound he seemed capable of making, and she laid her hand against his cheek affectionately. "Poor Obi-Wan," she murmured. "This is so hard for you. Just focus, love, and let it all go."   
  
Let *what* go? he wanted to scream at her, but he kept silent. The leather-gloved hand of one of his overseers ran over his head, an almost tender gesture. His entire body was trembling uncontrollably.   
  
He sensed the blow coming before it landed, but there was absolutely nothing he could do to prepare himself for it. The narrow tail of the whip hit him diagonally across the shoulder blades, raising a thin stripe of purest pain, and his vision whited out for one bright second. His fists clenched as a moan was pulled from between his lips.   
  
"Don't anticipate," Dany told him, sounding very far away. "Just try to relax into it. Don't forget to breathe. You're doing great, love..."   
  
He was crying. He'd barely recovered from that first heart-stopping stripe when another one landed, opposite from the first, and then another fast on its heels. His body bucked with each crack of the whip, cringing futilely from each new blossom of pain. "Dany!" he screamed, frantic to find some release from it, but she only shushed him kindly, smoothing back his sweat-slickened hair. He pulled away from her furiously.   
  
The blows began to fall in a pattern across his shoulders and back, gentler now, but the pain of them still rang through him with every touch of the whip. He ground his teeth together and squeezed his eyes shut against the power of it, tears leaking out between his eyelids and down his face. Dany did not try to touch him again. He gasped as the tail of the whip licked at the small of his back, his hips jerking forward convulsively. He found himself moaning deeply in the back of his throat, in time with the steady blows as they fell on him, his body moving in a strange sort of rhythm under the hits. The pain burnedd inside of him, filling him, incinerating everything that he was in its heat until all that was left was this weak, trembling shell.   
  
The first time the whip hit his ass, he howled, but it didn't stop it from happening again, and again. He cried out, struggling in the bonds that held him, begging in a voice he barely recognized for them to stop, oh gods, just please stop...   
  
They didn't stop. If anything, the whip bit harder now, making his hips thrust forward with each strike in a bitter parody of the sex act. He threw his head back, his mouth hanging open, unsure if he was making any sound or not anymore. He was lost in the blinding flashes of pain that enveloped him, cradling him in its fiery embrace and claiming him as its own.   
  
Then, without warning, it was over. He barely had time to draw a shuddering breath before he felt something hard and blunt push against his lips. His eyes flew open as leather-clad fingers clutched at his skull, holding him steady as a thick, hot penis was shoved into his mouth. He tried to pull back, but then there was a second body behind him, kneeling down on the backs of his calves and holding him fast. He groaned as a second cock was pushed into him from behind. This one was slick with lube and slid in easily, although the pain of that rapid filling stunned him breathless.   
  
The hands against his head held him motionless as the first cock hammered into him, raping his mouth with cruel abandon; the force of it bruised the back of his throat with each wild thrust. Other hands circled around him from behind, pinching at his nipples, the soft flesh around his ribs. An unshaven cheek rubbed animal-like against the side of his face, breath hot and rasping in his ear. His body rocked with the fury of the cock pounding into his ass, each violent thrust touching a part of him inside that sent a charge of pure electric pleasure to his own swollen cock, even as that sweat-slick body chafed against the tortured skin of his back. He moaned, completely delirious, as the pleasure and the pain swirled together inside of him until he literally could not tell one from the other. *Oh, gods,* he thought desperately, *I'm going to come...*   
  
The orgasm hit him like a shock wave, making him scream, even as his mouth was filled with a swirl of salty liquid, and the fingers around his head tightened beyond the point of pain. A moment later, the overseer at his back found his own release, clutching at him spasmodically for one breathless moment before finally dropping away.   
  
He hung there from the cuffs at his wrists, feeling used and spent and terribly lost. He still hurt, but it didn't seem to matter anymore. After a moment, he could feel the cuffs being released, and he fell forward, too numb even to think about stopping his fall. Dany caught him before he hit the ground, wrapping her arms carefully around his shaking body and pressing a light kiss to the side of his face. "Come on, love," she said quietly, hoisting him up onto his feet. "Let's get out of here."   
  
Yes, he agreed silently, although there was surprisingly little passion to the thought of it. Let's get out of here.   
  
Half-carrying his weight against her body, she led him slowly back out through the door and up the stairs, leaving the Pit and all of its torments behind.   
  
He didn't look back. 

* * *

  
On the morning of his twentieth day as a slave, Obi-Wan said good-bye to the citadel for good. He was being moved to Arvala's personal residence now, at the master's own request. Dany didn't seem surprised at all; in fact, she told him there had been little doubt in her mind where he would be sent once his training was completed.   
  
"Is this it, then?" he asked, feeling strangely ambivalent about the news. "Am I on my own now?" Okay, so ambivalent wasn't exactly the right word to describe it. More like scared as hell.  
  
She grinned at him. "So eager to be rid of me, are you? No, I'll stick around for a while yet, help you get the feel for what's expected of you. I'll be there to answer any questions you may have, and do what I can to make sure you're comfortable. Arvala's really the best master you could ever have, Obi-Wan. He's very big on the handler/trainee bond."   
  
Arvala's residence was a palatial building of rose-white stone, sprawling at the top of a tall hill just south of Nhil-Rhar. The drive leading up to the palace was flanked by towering trees, their branches interlocking overhead to form a long, green tunnel through which the sunlight shone in intermittent golden shafts. Obi-Wan craned his neck to look up through the window of the hovercar that carried him and Dany to their new home, straining to see every detail of this wondrous place. It helped him not to think about what was going to happen to him; he honestly did not know what to expect now, and this uncertainty left him faintly breathless with trepidation.   
  
The car drove on, heedless of his fears. 

* * *

  
"Here you go, love. That's it."   
  
He had to smile at the way she spoke to him, like he was a wild stallion that was ready to buck and run at the slightest provocation. The analogy wasn't entirely inaccurate, he realized - his heart was thumping at what seemed to be several times its normal pace, and his entire body was strung with nervous tension. He'd been at the palace for less than a day, and already he was being summoned to the master's rooms? Dany assured him that this was highly unusual, and a great honor. Most slaves languished in anonymity forever, without ever drawing the attention of their lord and owner. But he was different; he was special. He still couldn't decide if this was a good thing or not. It irritated him that her careful flattery was beginning to please him.   
  
The master's bedchamber was a large, elegantly furnished room with a towering ceiling inlaid with sweeping murals of men intertwined in various sex acts, their perfectly rendered faces frozen in expressions of such shameless abandon and rapture that he felt his cock stir at the sight of it. He couldn't take his eyes off of the painting as he was led into the room; it personified the very spirit of the Red Temple, that elusive combination of lust and power and rampant eroticism that he was only beginning to understand. There was a haunting beauty to it, expressive in every detail of that perfectly drawn rendering. He had to tear his eyes away.   
  
Dany had him sit on the edge of the large, canopied bed. He obeyed her reluctantly, still tense with fear and anticipation, but she stood close to him and touched the hair over his eyes, twining the short strands through her fingers until he calmed somewhat. He couldn't help it; after all they'd been through together, was he finally learning to trust her?   
  
"You'll do fine, Obi-Wan. There's no reason to be afraid." He could see the pride in her eyes, and he wondered fleetingly if his being summoned here would reflect favorably on her skill as a handler. Surprisingly, the thought brought no bitterness with it. Maybe he'd finally begun to accept his role in all this. Maybe.   
  
The wait was not long, and she stayed with him through all of it. He was enormously grateful for that, even as he seethed against the need for it. It was her job to keep him calm, keep him docile ... in short, to insure that he behaved like a good little slave. There was real humiliation in that, but there was comfort in it, too. As long as she was with him, he knew that he would be protected and cared for.   
  
Then the door opened, and Arvala came into the room. Obi-Wan found himself staring, his breath catching in his throat. Arvala was a large man, well-muscled, the subdued golden tone of his skin glowing warmly in the soft light. His hair was light blond, unusual among the proportionately dark-haired Arambulans, his strong face half-hidden behind the shadow of a curling beard. Obi-Wan remembered the feel of that beard scratching against his face when the slave lord kissed him on the auction platform.   
  
Dany dropped to her knees in front of her master, touching her forehead to the floor in the ritual posture of obeisance. Obi-Wan wondered for a moment if he was supposed to copy her gesture, but she gave him no sign to do so, so he stayed where he was.   
  
Arvala chuckled deeply. "On your feet, girl. That's all well and good for public displays, but I'll have none of it here. Not from my best handler."   
  
Dany obeyed, casting a wry glance in Obi-Wan's direction as she did so. Apparently she was well used to her lord's idiosynchrasies.   
  
"So what have you brought me today?" Arvala turned to look at Obi-Wan then. There was something predatory in the way he stared at him, something undeniably erotic in the way his eyes slid over the younger man's oiled skin, drinking in the sight of him. Obi-Wan felt his cock shiver in response to it. He shifted restlessly under the intensity of that dark gaze, remembering suddenly that he was well and truly naked. Funny, the things you could get used to, and how natural they could seem after enough exposure.   
  
"His name is Obi-Wan, sire." She gave him an encouraging smile.   
  
For a long moment, Arvala just looked him over appraisingly, a hungry sort of longing creeping into his eyes. "You can leave us now, Dany," he said at last.   
  
Obi-Wan felt a stab of pure, mindless terror at those words. Dany was leaving him? He'd grown dependent on her always being there for him, encouraging him, comforting him, holding him during the long nights when he couldn't stop the tears from coming. She'd become an integral part of the mechanism that allowed him to put up with the reality of his slavery, to keep his sanity in a world where everything that he was seemed to belong to everyone in the world but him.   
  
In retrospect, he considered the fact that this was exactly why Arvala had asked her to leave. She gave him a stern look as she moved to go, as if reading his thoughts. *Obey,* that look said to him. *Submit. Remember your training.*   
  
And then she was gone, and he was alone with this frighteningly large and powerful man. The mural on the ceiling seemed suddenly ominous, suffocating. Drawing on the Force, he willed his rapidly pounding heart to settle down to its usual rhythm and met his lord's gaze as calmly as he was able.   
  
Arvala chuckled approvingly. "Brave little pet." There was real tenderness in those words. Obi-Wan tensed as he came near, but held himself still as one large hand reached out to catch hold of his chin. The blunt thumb rubbed at his cheek absently. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"   
  
The question seemed to be rhetorical, so Obi-Wan kept silent. Conflicting emotions waged a bloody war inside his head: fear, pride, despair, embarrassment, lust, indignation, and ... a desire to please this man who was his master. This last surprised him somewhat. Why should he care if he gained Arvala's approval or not? Just do his duty, and then he would be free to continue his hunt for M'kal. There were plenty of harems here at the palace to search through.   
  
Arvala took a step back and began the slow process of removing his clothes. Obi-Wan guessed that members of the lord's personal harem would be well-trained to do the undressing for him, but he was willing to make allowances for a new acquisition. Obi-Wan was grateful; he wasn't sure he could remember how to deal with a buckle or a recalcitrant button in his current state of distress.   
  
Finally, Arvala stood naked before him. Obi-Wan stared, entranced by the sight of hard muscles under smooth, golden skin. He longed to reach out and touch the sculpted contours of that chest, to see if it truly was as silken as it looked, but he didn't dare. Arvala's cock was solidly erect, rising up out of a nest of golden hair. Obi-Wan realized suddenly that he was just as hard, and a bittersweet ache was radiating out from his groin in slow pulses.   
  
"I can smell the fear in you." Arvala's voice was gentle as he moved to sit next to him on the bed. His hands lifted to touch Obi-Wan's face, fingers fluttering lightly over the younger man's quivering lashes, trailing down his cheeks. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, trembling. "You don't need to be afraid of me, pretty pet. I'm not going to hurt you. I promise you that."   
  
It wasn't fair. Obi-Wan had grown used to the endless procession of faceless strangers, the lustful desires and cruel hands that sought to use his body for their own prurient pleasures. He'd managed to distance himself from all of it quite nicely, separating himself from the reality of it as if it were happening to someone else. He'd suffered hard blows, beatings, been tied and gagged and filled and used, and none of it had touched him. But he had no defense to raise against this. He could feel his armor unraveling, and tears burned behind his closed eyelids.   
  
"Master," he whispered, feeling for a moment as if he were speaking to someone else, "how can I please you?"   
  
Arvala breathed a shuddering sigh and leaned forward to capture his slave's lips with his own. Obi-Wan responded instantly, feeling his lord's tongue push into his open mouth, claiming it as his own. He moaned in the back of his throat as strong hands pushed him down onto the bed, and then the hard body was covering him, igniting the flame of ardent passion inside of him. He writhed with the sheer pleasure of that contact, unable to keep still, and at last gave into the temptation to touch the silken skin above him. His hands glided over the smooth contours of shoulders and spine, sweeping down to knead the soft flesh of his lord's buttocks. Arvala drew his head back, hissing through his teeth, lustful eyes raking over Obi-Wan's face with unconcealed hunger.   
  
"Serve me, my pet," the master said, his voice harsh with arousal. He kissed Obi-Wan once on each eyelid, touching lightly with his tongue.   
  
Obi-Wan pushed Arvala back gently, surprised when the slave lord allowed him to lay him down against the mattress. Emboldened, he bent his head to lick at one darkly golden nipple, smoothing his hand over the light hairs above his master's stomach. Arvala arched under him, a groan issuing from deep in his throat as if it had been pulled from him against his will. It was the most erotic sound that Obi-Wan had ever heard, and he closed his lips over the enticingly erect nipple to stifle his answering moan. He nipped once with his teeth before beginning to suck at the tender flesh, his hand moving down to stroke at Arvala's heated cock. The body under him shivered violently under his touch, and he moved to the other nipple, giving it equal attention before sliding his lips down the slopes of ribs and stomach to lap gently at the shallow depression of his master's navel.   
  
"Oh, yes, pet," Arvala hissed, barely coherent through the shudders of passion that devoured him. His fingers clenched in Obi-Wan's hair. "Yes..."   
  
Obi-Wan took the hard length of his lord's penis into his mouth, consuming it utterly. Arvala cried out at the contact, his body arching, and Obi-Wan suckled at the hot flesh greedily, closing his eyes against the riot of emotions that surged through him. His whole world had narrowed to this man's cock and the pleasure he could give it; he was bound entirely to its will alone, and despite this truth, he felt freer than he ever had in his life. Only here, in this special place, did he begin to understand what Dany had been trying to teach him: *Control ... either you have it, or you don't. Once you understand that, the rest is easy...*   
  
Rough hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him away abruptly, dragging him up and laying him face-down against the pillows. Before he could even gasp in shock, Arvala's large body was pressing down onto him from behind, its not inconsiderable weight driving his erection into the soft mattress. He whimpered, suddenly afraid, but then his body was being caressed and stroked as the older man murmured soft endearments in his ear. Arvala's coarse beard rubbed against the side of his face, stinging slightly, but even that was comforting to him.   
  
There was a brief shuffling as the slaver reached for something next to the bedside. "Relax, beautiful pet," Arvala whispered to him. "That's it, just relax..."   
  
Obi-Wan felt the tip of the man's penis push at the opening to his anus and tensed involuntarily, fists clenching in the sheets to either side of him. But there was something cold and slick covering that thick cock, and he realized with relief that it was well-lubed. It still burned when it stretched him, but it moved slowly as it filled him, giving his body time to adjust to its presence. He breathed in and out shallowly, staring hard at the filigreed patterns of the headboard, and then it was over, the full length of that throbbing organ encased within his body. He moaned, completely caught up in the feel of it.   
  
Arvala started to move within him then, and Obi-Wan's world exploded in a cascade of silver light. He writhed with pleasure, heedless of the pleading sounds he was making, aware only of the fact that he wanted more, needed more, would do anything for-   
  
He came, the force of his orgasm bringing his thoughts to a screeching halt. He cried out, peripherally aware that Arvala was shuddering over him in his own release, those huge, strong hands clenching vise-like on his hips. It hurt, the strength of that grip, but he didn't care. He wanted it to hurt, anything to add to the sensations ebbing through him, anything his master wanted to do to him, anything. He sighed deeply, his eyes drifting closed. "Master," he whispered, in deep contentment. "Master."   
  
He fell asleep then, curled up in Arvala's arms, but it was other arms that he dreamt of, and other hands that he longed to have smoothing back the hair around his face in the aftermath of their passion. The longing sang through him, even as he didn't understand it.   
  
He slept.   
  


* * *

  
  
"Emil Marr?"   
  
The fair-haired young man glanced around with lazily blinking eyes, his pupils dilated in the grip of what was undoubtedly a very expensive designer drug. Two local beauties lay sprawled across his lap, more naked than not. They looked warily up at Qui-Gon as he approached.   
  
"Eh?" The slave dealer looked slightly bewildered. His eyes focused on Qui-Gon with effort, and he pulled himself hurriedly upright, paling visibly. "What do you want?"   
  
Qui-Gon was very much aware of L'rell standing behind his left shoulder, simmering with barely concealed rage. In contrast, Qui-Gon was cool and sharp as ice. "We have reason to believe that you participated in the kidnapping of M'kal L'rell, son of the governor of the Nyitiian provinces."   
  
Emil Marr became so white that he looked almost transparent. "I ... I don't know what you're talking about." He licked his lips nervously.   
  
L'rell took a slow step forward, the halted motion seeming almost to be the precipitate of a full-scale attack. The younger man shrank back visibly. "Tell me," and the big man's voice was laced with tightly reined fury, "did you use my son before you sold him?" There was no response. "Did you?" This last was fairly shouted out.   
  
Emil cowered, his resistance crumbling. "Yeah, all right, we did. Do you have any idea how sweet that kid was? Kanda said no one would ever know, they'd never find out it was us..."   
  
The rest of his words blanked out as Qui-Gon's ears were filled with a dull roar. His mind latched onto that one word and was rebelling against it in an agony of furious denial. Kanda? Kanda had kidnapped L'rell's son? Kanda, who had sold his Padawan into slavery and knew that he was a spy sent to locate M'kal?   
  
L'rell was already calling for security to come and arrest Emil Marr. It was ironic that kidnapping was against the law on Arambula (at least when the victim was a wealthy governor's son), but the selling of slaves was not. Qui-Gon was barely aware of the ruckus as the slave dealer was taken away.   
  
//Padawan,// he sent, his mental voice a soft breath of urgent warning, traveling down the length of their bond. //Padawan, he knows. He knows. You have got to get out of there, *now*.//   
  
There was no response. In growing horror, he tried again, groping for the familiar presence of his student's mind. It was there, its dimensions easily familiar to him, but its feelings and responses were still blocked off. Abandoning all courtesy and protocol, he gathered his thoughts to a fine, sharp point and punched through that wall, breaking down his apprentice's privacy shield.   
  
Nothing happened. Obi-Wan's thoughts were still only a faint buzzing at the back of his head, barely noticeable. There was something terribly unnatural about Qui-Gon's inability to reach them.   
  
Without bothering to explain himself, he reached for L'rell and pulled the bigger man with him out onto the street, where their car was waiting for them at the curb. 

* * *

  
  
Obi-Wan knelt on the floor of Arvala's private study and waited for his lord to acknowledge him. Arvala was seated at his desk, fingers tapping idly at the console in front of him, seemingly unaware of the naked man who waited patiently for him to finish his work.   
  
Patience was a virtue that Obi-Wan was well acquainted with, it being one of the basic tenets of the Jedi Code. He sat back on his heels, settling himself comfortably, and let his eyes roam over the room around him. Arvala had a fondness for antiquities, which was evidenced in the d,cor he'd chosen for his private sanctum. Deep shelves of paperbound books lined the walls, the titles he could make out revealing it to be a rather eclectic collection. The nut-brown bulk of a grandfather clock nestled in one corner of the room.   
  
Arvala leaned back in his chair and stretched, the joints in his back popping audibly. Obi-Wan turned his attention back to his owner, admiring the way the smooth material of his shirt slid over his sculpted muscles.   
  
Finally, Arvala looked down at him, one hand moving to stroke Obi-Wan's cheek. Obi-Wan bent his head into the caress, his eyes closing. Arvala chuckled. "Pretty pet," he said teasingly. "I've half a mind to keep you confined in my chambers and not let the rest of the palace lay eyes on you at all."   
  
Obi-Wan stayed silent, accepting the praise.   
  
Arvala's thumb moved to brush lightly across the sensitive skin under his ear, and Obi-Wan could almost hear himself purring in pleasure. His world had been reduced to pure sensation, pure gratification, and every touch of his master's hand delighted him. It was something he would never have believed possible before becoming a part of the Red Temple, thatsomething so simple could bring him this much joy.   
  
Arvala's next words, however, froze the happiness in his throat:   
  
"I know you are Jedi."   
  
Slowly, Obi-Wan lifted his eyes to meet his master's unfathomable gaze. There was no challenge there - only a statement of fact, and nothing more. His mouth was suddenly very dry. "My lord?"   
  
A small smile pulled at the corner of Arvala's lips. "You are Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Padawan and ambassador to Arambula through the intercession of Governor Torella L'rell of the Nyitiian provinces. Your mission here is to locate and free the governor's only son, M'kal." His fingers played idly with the long braid at the side of Obi-Wan's head, amused by the stunned expression on the younger man's face.   
  
Obi-Wan felt as if the world had dropped out from under him. //Master,// he called out, plaintively, and was taken up short by the complete lack of response that came back to him. Disbelieving, he threw down the privacy shields that he had so painstakingly erected around him these past few weeks. To his horrified amazement, it made absolutely no difference at all. His bond with Qui-Gon was barely detectable, the faintest whisper in the back of his mind.   
  
"Your food has been drugged since you first came to the citadel," Arvala said matter-of-factly, as if reading his thoughts. "It's a chemical agent which inhibits manipulative control of the Force. Your sensitivity should be unimpaired, but I'm afraid you're quite incapable of acting on it."   
  
The slow shock of horror slid rapidly into full-scale terror, as he realized that Arvala's evaluation of the drug's properties was right on-target. He could sense the Force all around him, but he could not tap into it. It was something that he would have noticed much earlier, if he'd ever come out of his self-imposed exile long enough to try and use it. With a sudden burst of anger, he yanked his head back out of Arvala's grip.   
  
He could see the slight tensing of the other man's shoulders, as if he were anticipating an attack. For a brief second, he actually considered it, but he knew he would be no match for Arvala in a test of physical strength. And even if he succeeded in overpowering the slave lord, what then? He was trapped in the heart of this palatial stronghold, which was crawling with the slaver's guards and lackeys, miles away from Nhil-Rhar, with absolutely no way to contact his Master for help.   
  
His panic must have shown in his eyes, because Arvala regarded him with a small degree of pity. "So proud, aren't you? I wonder if you would have given yourself to me so willingly last night if you'd known that you were truly helpless?"   
  
Obi-Wan flushed at the memory. "What are you going to do with me?"   
  
"You will enter training to join my personal harem immediately." There was a weight of inevitability to the words. "I'll allow Dany to remain with you for a time; I understand you've grown quite attached to her. It won't be a bad life," he added quietly, eyes searching Obi-Wan's upturned face. "There are worse fates that could have been yours in this universe."   
  
"My Master will come for me." His voice was very quiet.   
  
"I know." He sounded sad. "But until then, you still belong to me. I'll try to head him off, plant rumors that you were sold off-planet, but I have no doubt he will eventually track you down."   
  
"And if I choose not to serve you?"   
  
"My dear boy," and here he chuckled softly, eyeing his slave with fond regard, "you've never had a choice." 

* * *

  
  
Obi-Wan was moved into Arvala's harem that very morning. There were only eight other slaves in this most exalted of positions, an unspoken testament to how sparingly Arvala added to his collection. For some, it may have been considered a great honor.   
  
It almost didn't surprise him to see that one of them was M'kal. He recognized the boy immediately from the holos that L'rell had shown him, and also from the descriptions he'd heard on the streets of Nhil-Rhar. M'kal was nineteen, barely a man, with shoulder-length black hair and eyes of darkest jet. His skin was smooth, seeming to glow from within with a deeply golden luster. The narrow planes of his back were crossed with deep scars, no doubt a legacy from his time in the Pit. Obi-Wan felt his own scars itch at the sight of it. How was it that these imperfections in his otherwise perfect beauty made the boy seem even more desirable?   
  
Dany had not come with him; perhaps Arvala had warned her that the newest addition to his harem would be feeling rather peevish today, and she'd do best to give him some space. Obi-Wan was grateful for this, at least. He didn't think he could face her in the light of his newly recognized captivity.   
  
Arvala had been right about that much; while he'd believed he was the one in control, submitting had been almost easy. But now that he was lost to the harsh reality of his servitude, everything had changed. Everything inside of him rebelled at the fate that had been chosen for him.   
  
Even so, he couldn't help but remember the tenderness in Arvala's eyes as he had taken him last night, the low murmur of his voice, the soft touch of his big hands. Part of him had enjoyed the freedom of being so utterly possessed, consumed in the heat of a fire that he could not control.   
  
He sat alone in the common area of the slave quarters all that day, and no one bothered him except to offer him his meals. When he refused to eat, they very calmly held him down and administered a hypo of unknown origin against the skin of his neck. He guessed it was the Force-inhibiting drug that Arvala had told him about, all efforts at camouflage abandoned now.   
  
He learned from M'kal that it was Kanda who orchestrated the kidnapping. Doubtlessly it had also been the former slaver who betrayed him to Arvala. The revelation brought surprisingly little bitterness with it.   
  
That evening, he was summoned to Arvala's chambers again. He thought about resisting, but there was really no point to it. As a recalcitrant slave, he would be punished severely, and someone else would be called on to see to their lord's pleasures tonight. Maybe M'kal.   
  
He padded quietly into the master's bedchamber as the guard held open the door for him and fell gracefully to his knees in front of the bed. Arvala was already sitting on the edge of the tall mattress, waiting for him. Obi-Wan kept his eyes on the floor.   
  
For a long moment, there was no sound but the slow sigh of their breathing. Then Arvala said, "I want you, Obi-Wan Kenobi."   
  
Obi-Wan looked up at him in surprise. "My lord?" he said, not understanding.   
  
Arvala smiled, and there was a wistfulness in his expression that, insanely, made Obi-Wan feel a touch of pity for him. "I've wanted you ever since I first laid eyes on you. I want your affection, I want your love, I want your mind and your thoughts and your heart and your soul."   
  
"My lord," Obi-Wan replied, very quietly, "I cannot offer what is not mine to give." His response startled him somewhat.   
  
But Arvala nodded. "I know. I knew it last night, even though I tried not to see the truth of it. You gave yourself to me so wholly, so completely, and yet ... at the heart of things, you still belong to someone else."   
  
Obi-Wan tried to puzzle out the implications of this, and his thoughts skittered stubbornly away from the only answer that made any sense.   
  
Arvala was speaking again. "If I cannot have what I want from you," he said, "would you at least offer me your body tonight?"   
  
Obi-Wan met his gaze evenly, reading the vulnerability in those exotic, dark eyes, and felt a shiver of longing pass through him. Perhaps his heart and soul did indeed belong to another, as a part of him had always known, but tonight his body sang with a need that refused to be denied.   
  
"My lord," he said, with perfect deference. "I am yours."   
  


* * *

  
  
"Do you truly believe that your apprentice is still here in Nhil-Rhar?" L'rell seemed hesitant about disturbing the Jedi Master's meditation, but the need to speak his mind had obviously come to a head. Refusing to back down in the face of the dark glare Qui-Gon cast in his direction, he continued. "I mean, my spies tell me that Obi-Wan was sold to a trader from Lataxian VI; he could be halfway across the galaxy by now."   
  
It was a possibility that Qui-Gon refused to consider. If it were true, he might never see Obi-Wan again, for the galaxy was large and filled with places to hide those who had fallen into its cracks. The slave trade throughout the Outer Rim had been in existence for decades now, and its masters were well-used to the nuances of concealing their acquisitions from those who sought to find them.   
  
But it was more than a sense of denial that kept him here on Arambula. He could still feel Obi-Wan in his mind, small and lost and achingly distant, his thoughts cut off from his Master by whatever drugs he had undoubtedly been given. It was entirely possible that Arvala had rid himself of such a dangerous commodity at the earliest opportunity, but something in him refused to believe it.   
  
It was the look that he had seen on Arvala's face when he first saw Obi-Wan on the slave platform. There had been blatant desire in those black eyes, evident in the fierce possessiveness with which he kissed Obi-Wan, there in plain view of the entire city. Kissing him, tasting him, marking him as his own.   
  
Twenty-one days. In twenty-one days, his Padawan could have been taken anywhere in the known galaxy. The thought filled him with a biting sense of despair, but his mind kept returning to that kiss on the auction platform. No, Arvala had not given Obi-Wan away.   
  
"Governor L'rell," he said, thinking it through carefully, "does Arvala have a private residence anywhere close to Nhil-Rhar?" 

* * *

  
  
The main hall of Arvala's palace was lined with towering ivory pillars, their fluted columns revealing a taste for aestheticism that was echoed by the green-veined marble of the floor. Open windows along the west wall let in the light, illuminating every corner of the vast chamber.   
  
Qui-Gon's booted heels clicked sharply on the shining marble as he made his way into the room. He was still dressed in Arambulan fashion, with the long tunic, dark pants, and leather belt that he had grown accustomed to over the past several weeks, but he had elected to wear the identifying length of his Jedi robe. His lightsaber hung from his belt in an obvious statement of authority.   
  
Judicious use of what Obi-Wan laughingly called the "Jedi mind-fuzz" had gotten him past the front guards, and now he wondered at how he would go about finding Arvala. He had little hope of stumbling across Obi-Wan without creating a scene that he very much wished to avoid. After all, they had come here to Arambula without the consent of the Senate, and engaging in an altercation with one of the planet's leading citizens would not reflect favorably on the Jedi at all.   
  
His senses detected the lone figure at the end of the long hall before he actually came into view. He recognized the blond-bearded figure immediately and came to a deliberate halt in front of the largely muscular man. He inclined his head politely, eyes glittering from deep within his cowl. "Master Arvala," he greeted with calm deference. "I believe you are in possession of something that belongs to me."   
  
The slave lord favored him with a wry twist of his sensual lips. "I had rather hoped it would take you longer to come to me, Master Jinn."   
  
It did not surprise him that Arvala knew his name. Kanda would doubtlessly have been very thorough in the information that he sold to him.   
  
"I knew that you would not have parted from him," he said quietly.   
  
Arvala nodded, understanding bright in his eyes. "So you're the one," he sighed, with irritating ambiguity. "He is quite a lovely creature, isn't he?"   
  
Qui-Gon, while offended by the casual degradation of the remark, could not bring himself to disagree. Almost visibly shaking off the mood of melancholy that had fallen over him, Arvala turned to one of the cleverly hidden archways that led deeper into his stronghold and gestured idly. A robed and hooded figure stepped silently into the room, hands clasped together inside the full sleeves, bare feet scuffing softly against the cold marble floor. Qui-Gon felt a surge of elation rise in him, not needing to see the smooth features hidden inside the cowl to know who it was that approached him. So graceful, radiating serenity and beauty even through the concealing covering of the slave-robe.   
  
"Obi-Wan," he breathed, voice tight with relief and wonder.   
  
The cowled head lifted, the blue eyes filling with a sudden, joyful light before iron control clamped down and muted it to a dull haze. "Master." There was a new note of reverence to that simple word that made Qui-Gon's knees go weak under him.   
  
Qui-Gon felt enormously relieved to have Obi-Wan with him again. A shared glance with his Padawan answered the question that hovered on his lips. "There is one other item of business that stands between us," he said, eyeing the slave lord purposefully.   
  
Arvala's eyes narrowed. "You mean to destroy me, don't you?"   
  
Qui-Gon shook his head firmly. "That is not my intention. Name your price."   
  
Immediately, Qui-Gon sensed that Arvala would refuse. He sweated the outcome of the slaver's inner deliberation, not knowing what he could do, legally, if he refused to give up M'kal.   
  
The dark eyes hardened; the gaze turned away. "You ask too much, Jedi." The words were cold.   
  
Before Qui-Gon could form a reply, Obi-Wan swept past his shoulder, taking a fluid step toward his former lord. He had drawn the hood back off his head, and his eyes were piercing as they fixed on Arvala.   
  
"Please," he said softly, his voice pitched low to carry just the distance between them.   
  
Something in Arvala seemed to melt at that quiet plea, and his expression softened. After a moment's hesitation, he nodded and said, "I will let M'kal go free." Just as a small sigh of relief touched Qui-Gon's lips, he added, "If you stay with me in his place."   
  
Obi-Wan looked stricken. Qui-Gon felt his heart constrict, seeing the pain in those crystalline eyes. "Arvala-" he began, threateningly, but the slave lord cut him off with a gesture, not taking his eyes from Obi-Wan's.   
  
"Let your apprentice make his own decision, Master Jinn. Unless, of course, you do not trust him to do so."   
  
Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed in anger. Arvala had just given him an ultimatum - either let Obi-Wan decide whether to give up his freedom in exchange for a stranger's, or decline his right to chose, thus claiming true mastery over him. Either choice would leave a bitter taste in his mouth, because he knew what choice his warm-hearted Obi-Wan would eventually make.   
  
"No," he said quietly.   
  
"Master Jinn-"   
  
"I said no."   
  
There was a dangerous undercurrent to his words that made both men turn and look at him. His hand was resting on his lightsaber, fingers lightly stroking the shaft.   
  
"I challenge you, Arvala," he said, in a tone that brooked no room for argument. "I challenge you for the right to own M'kal L'rell."   
  
If anything, Arvala looked intrigued. "Why should I agree to such a thing? I already own the boy."   
  
Qui-Gon immediately understood what the slaver was driving at. Oh, but he was a clever one. "What else do you require?" he asked, forcing the words out through grinding teeth.   
  
Arvala smiled. It looked particularly wicked on his suddenly cherubic face. "If you win, you get to have the boy. If I win," and here the smile broadened, just slightly, "I keep him ... and your apprentice."   
  
Qui-Gon's eyes moved to Obi-Wan, who nodded. "Very well," he said, with more than a little reluctance. His eyes never left his Padawan's.   
  
As the challenged party, Arvala chose ceremonial swords for their weapons. Qui-Gon took his sword carefully from the slave who brought it to him. It was long and well-balanced, the silver blade decorated with whorls of delicate filigree, the hilt covered in a fine gold mesh. Its weight was unfamiliar in his hand, and he took a few practice swipes with it, testing its responsiveness.   
  
They would be fighting in the great hall. Already, several members of the household were gathering to witness the contest, both slaves and freemen. Qui-Gon's eyes found a dark-haired human girl amongst the growing crowd, whose gray eyes were focused intently on his Padawan.  
  
"Friend of yours?" he asked, as Obi-Wan took his robe from him.   
  
Obi-Wan looked uncomfortable. "An acquaintance, Master."   
  
Qui-Gon wisely chose to leave the matter alone and turned his attention to the challenge that lay before him. The only rule that Arvala had stipulated was that he not use the Force to help win his victory, and once his word was given, he was bound by it. This would be a test of purely physical skill.   
  
They both moved into position, and Obi-Wan fell back to stand at the edge of the crowd. Qui-Gon spared one final glance for him, wincing at the brave determination on that young face. //I will not fail you, my Padawan.//   
  
Obi-Wan nodded, understanding the unspoken message even though the drugs he'd been given prevented him from hearing it. *I know, Master.*   
  
Then Arvala was standing in front of him, and all of Qui-Gon's attention was riveted on the slave lord. The look in the man's eyes was wary, but controlled. He lifted his sword in a strangely courteous gesture, touching the flat of the blade to his forehead and bowing slightly forward at the waist. Not knowing how to respond to that, Qui-Gon answered with the salute he would normally have given a partner at the beginning of a saber training match.   
  
The hall had gone deathly quiet. Arvala gave a small, tight smile, his black eyes glittering with what almost seemed to be amusement. Then he moved.   
  
Qui-Gon raised his own sword more from instinct than readiness, but his opponent was already moving away again, a flutter at the periphery of his vision. Gods, but Arvala was light on his feet for such a large man. Qui-Gon spun, searching, fingers tightening around the hilt in his hand. Then Arvala was closing in again, but he was ready this time. Swords met with a harsh clang, and Qui-Gon felt the force of the blow clear up to his shoulders. Gritting his teeth against the pain of it, he pressed the confrontation, forcing Arvala to take the defensive as he swung again and again. The slaver met each of his blows with irritating ease.   
  
Qui-Gon fell back a pace, more wary now. Whatever else he may be, Arvala was a master swordsman. He took solace in the fact that the slaver also seemed to be more cautious now. Their eyes met across the expanse of floor between them, waiting, watching. There was no other sound in the room other than their harsh breathing.   
  
Then Arvala was attacking again, and Qui-Gon reacted with pure reflex as the multitude of blows rained down around him. His opponent's sword flashed with lightning speed, feinting and lunging in the same breath, then drawing away to come from a completely unexpected angle. Once, the fine blade clipped his leg, and he shied away, hissing in a pained breath. Arvala did not slow, and Qui-Gon forced himself to ignore the wound, using the Force to staunch the light trickle of blood that warmed his leg. It was only a scratch, but it annoyed him to no end. This was ridiculous. He was a Jedi Master; he would not be bested by a decadent slave trader on a corrupt, backwater world.   
  
Suddenly deciding he'd had enough of defending himself, Qui-Gon purposefully left himself open to the next attack and stepped into it, catching Arvala completely by surprise. Smoothly, Qui-Gon cut through his defense and reached out with one leg, tangling his foot with Arvala's and pulling the slaver's legs out from under him.   
  
The slave lord fell with a crash and rolled smoothly out of the way of the sword that arced toward him. Cat-quick, he was back on his feet, but he had lost his center now, and he fell back before Qui-Gon's carefully enraged blows. Qui-Gon hounded him steadily, fighting for every inch of ground that he gained, seeing the sweat stand out on Arvala's face.   
  
A few minutes later, it was all over. Qui-Gon's precisely aimed blow took the sword right out of Arvala's hand, and it fell to the floor with an echoing clang of hard metal, ricocheting across the breadth of the hall. Arvala stared at him, wide-eyed, apparently very much aware of the sword point that hovered just inches below his chin.   
  
"Do you yield?" Qui-Gon asked, with lethal softness.   
  
Arvala hesitated, and for a moment, his eyes were lit by pure, unadulterated rage. Then his anger drained away, and he nodded. "Well met, Master Jinn," he said, rubbing at one aching shoulder. He smiled wryly.   
  
Slowly, Qui-Gon lowered the blade of his sword to the floor.   
  
Instantly, the hall erupted in an explosion of sound as the spell was broken, and the onlookers all began talking at once. Qui-Gon ignored them, his eyes searching for one brown-robed figure amongst the press of bodies.   
  
"Master," Obi-Wan said, eyes shining with pride and happiness as he made his way towards him. Qui-Gon grinned, basking in the light of his Padawan's approbation. A moment later, however, Obi-Wan's gaze moved to his former lord, and the joy left his eyes as if it had been drained from him. He looked suddenly uncertain.   
  
"You're free to go now, Obi-Wan." Arvala's voice was soft. He stood just inches away from Obi-Wan's shoulder. Then, even softer still, "Go to your Master, pet."   
  
Obi-Wan gazed up at him, his eyes filled with turbulent emotion, lips parting slightly. Before he could speak, Arvala was reaching out for him, crushing him to his chest in a desperate embrace, all but devouring his mouth under his own. Qui-Gon watched, tensing, but to his immense surprise, Obi-Wan allowed it.   
  
"I cannot bear to lose you," Arvala whispered in his ear, holding him firmly. "The thought of it fills me with misery. So tell me," and now there was a note of self-deprecating humor in his voice, "who is truly the slave, and who is the master?"   
  
Obi-Wan stepped away, and Arvala reluctantly let him go. "My lord," he said formally, then stopped, uncertain. Not knowing what else to say, confused by the emotions that churned through him, he turned slowly away from this man who had been his master and moved to take his place at Qui-Gon's side.   
  
M'kal was brought to the Jedi Master then, in the presence of the dark-haired girl that he had noticed earlier. Qui-Gon immediately felt his apprentice tense beside him and understood that he knew this woman. Giving him the privacy he seemed to need, he drew M'kal aside for a private conversation, ostensibly to see for himself if the boy was unharmed.   
  
Obi-Wan waited for Dany to come to him, unsure what to feel towards this sprightly female who had been at the heart of nearly all his experiences within the Red Temple. She stopped in front of him, regarding him calmly from her cool gray eyes.   
  
"I guess this is good-bye."   
  
"Nice of you to come send me off, after everything you've done for me." He was ashamed of the bitterness in his tone but couldn't seem to stop the words from coming out. "Did you know that he was drugging me? Did you know I was really a Jedi?"   
  
She shook her head, though it didn't seem to be in denial of his accusations. "He never told me what the drug was, and I never questioned his order to give it to you. And no, I didn't know you were Jedi, but I knew you were special in some way. Different."   
  
He closed his eyes, amazed that her compliments could mean so much to him even now. "You could come with us, you know," he found himself saying. "My Master will pay for your freedom, if I ask him to. You can leave this place, go out on your own, be your own person again."   
  
He sensed her refusal of his offer even before the words left his mouth. When he opened his eyes to look at her, she was smiling sadly. "He'll never let me go, Obi-Wan. You, he gave up because he knew your Master would take his palace down around his ears if he refused. M'kal, he gave up for love of you. He will not part with a third slave. And even if you could convince him..." Her gaze moved away from him, taking in the others around them. "I'm needed here, Obi-Wan. I'm ... useful. My job is to help make slavery easier on those who have no choice in their fate, and I'm good at it. How can I give that up?"   
  
He felt unexpected tears sting his eyes. "Why does it have to hurt so much?" he whispered, not quite sure what he was referring to.   
  
But she seemed to understand. "It's because you've learned something new about yourself, and it's changing you." And then, thoughtfully, "But that's all knowledge ever really does, I suppose."   
  
He wasn't sure he understood, or even that he wanted to. The Red Temple had left scars on him that went deeper than just his skin. It was difficult ... unexpectedly difficult ... to let go. "Bye, Dany," he said, somehow finding it within himself to smile. "And ... thanks."   
  


* * *

  
  
L'rell was waiting for them in the hovercar at the end of the drive, anxiously awaiting the outcome of the confrontation that took place inside. Only Qui-Gon's uncompromising insistence had convinced him to stay there. When he saw the two Jedi stepping out of the palace with the third, smaller figure held protectively between them, he jumped out of the car with a look of pure happiness radiating across his broad features.   
  
"M'kal!"   
  
M'kal ran to his father, who swept him up in a bone-crunching hug. L'rell clutched him tightly, as if he would never let go of him again, his voice rough with emotion as he apologized, over and over, for letting this happen to him. M'kal, while obviously happy to see his father, seemed subdued, almost lost. Looking back over his shoulder, he shared a long, knowing look with Obi-Wan that Qui-Gon could not decipher.   
  
They returned to L'rell's mansion then, and there was a huge banquet prepared to celebrate the return of M'kal and to honor the two Jedi. Qui-Gon suffered through the praises of L'rell's family and friends with good grace, even though he truly just wanted to leave and put his memories behind him. This had been a trying mission, in more ways than one, and it had been particularly hard on his Padawan. Obi-Wan, for his part, was uncommonly reserved throughout the meal, relying on his Master to make conversation and accept the endless tirade of thanks from their well-meaning hosts.   
  
It was almost nightfall by the time they were ready to board their ship and return to Coruscant. The governor swore his sincere thanks for Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan's help in bringing his son home, and pledged the full support of his position in the Arambulan government for anything the Jedi might have need of in the future.   
  
The entire household turned out to see them off, and then the boarding hatch of the ship closed behind them, sealing them off at last from the well-intentioned worship of the Arambulans. Qui-Gon breathed a heavy sigh of relief as the silence of space surrounded them. Obi-Wan was unusually quiet as they pulled out of orbit and started to make their way out of the solar system. Once they were safely beyond the system's boundaries, they made the jump to hyperspace.   
  
Almost against his will, Qui-Gon's eyes moved to take in the sight of his young apprentice. Obi-Wan looked uncomfortable in his newly donned Jedi attire. Except for a few terse words during take-off, he had been completely silent, skillfully avoiding his Master's questioning gaze. There was an edge to him that hadn't been there before - the scars of experience, a loss of innocence, perhaps? To Qui-Gon, this made him even more appealing. He was struck by the sudden thought that maybe his Padawan had been happy in his servitude to Arvala.   
  
The thought sparked a chord of jealousy and desire in him so strong that it took his breath away. It was as if he had been waiting his entire life to come to this epiphany - that he wanted his apprentice, that they'd become so close over the years that mental and spiritual intimacy was no longer enough for him. He longed to touch that smooth skin, not as Master to student but as man to man, and ease the emotional turmoil that Obi-Wan was so obviously wrestling with. More than that, he longed to possess his Padawan in a way that left him breathless with arousal at the very thought of it.   
  
But Obi-Wan had been harshly used these past weeks, forced to submit to the desires and whims of strangers with no thought to his own dignity or right to chose. To express such feelings to him now would be criminal; the last thing he needed was to be made aware of the emotions that stirred deep in his Master's heart. He had doubtlessly had enough of masters during his time in the Red Temple. They would return to Coruscant and, Force willing, put all of this behind them. Qui-Gon's feelings, no doubt inspired by the things he had seen and experienced during his stay on Arambula, would fade back to their proper dimensions in time.   
  
So he kept himself safely away from his Padawan, ostensibly to keep the boy from reading the desire that he could not quite keep out of his eyes whenever he looked at him. In truth, he did not want to torment himself with visions of that lean, sensual body, a body that he knew was forever beyond his reach. The freighter was more than large enough for two passengers who didn't desire to have any undue contact with each other, and Obi-Wan made no effort to search him out.   
  
Eventually, his sense of duty called him to go out in search of his Padawan. Obi-Wan was obviously suffering, having just undergone the most traumatic experience of his young life, and Qui-Gon's behavior was rife with selfishness to abandon him in his time of need. He was angry with himself for doing so. It would be entirely inappropriate for him to reveal his newly discovered feelings for his apprentice (and the darkly provocative desires that went with them), but it was just as inexcusable to shut him out like this. Surely there must be a middle ground where they could meet, Master to Padawan, and discuss the demons that raged between them.   
  
"Obi-Wan, look at me."   
  
His apprentice was sitting in a low chair on the recreation deck, knees pulled up to his chest, gazing out an open portal at the stars as they streaked by. He turned his head at the sound of his Master's voice, his expression coldly unreadable. The drugs he'd been given had worn off completely by now, but his privacy shield was firmly back in place.   
  
"Yes, Master?"   
  
Qui-Gon hesitated, wondering how best to proceed. He decided that bluntness was his best weapon at this point. "Are you sorry that I took you away from Arvala?"   
  
It worked; the weapon struck home. He could see Obi-Wan's carefully constructed wall of stoicism crumble under the impact, his eyes widening as his jaw fell open in surprise. "No, Master!" he said, rather vehemently.   
  
"Then what troubles you, Padawan?" He let the vehemence creep into his own voice, the concern. The love.   
  
Obi-Wan's eyes flashed; he looked sharply away. "I could not have stayed with Arvala," he said, the words coming from him reluctantly. "Not that ... there wasn't a certain appeal to the life that I lived there." His cheeks flamed at the admission.   
  
"Then why don't you wish you had stayed?" Qui-Gon asked gently.   
  
For an endless moment, he didn't think Obi-Wan was going to answer. Then, with a shuddering breath, Obi-Wan replied, "Because my place is here with you."   
  
Those sea-blue eyes turned on him with the full force of their inimitable personality, and Qui-Gon caught his breath in shock. It was all there - all the love, all the trust, all the selfless devotion that had always made up their bond together, but it was amplified now by the tender ache of unfulfilled need. He knew suddenly that his feelings for Obi-Wan were being returned, passion for passion, and that Obi-Wan believed it was a love that could never be.   
  
"Obi-Wan," he said, hoarsely, and saw the surprise flicker across his apprentice's eyes as he read the nuances of his Master's mental contact and realized that his feelings for Qui-Gon were reciprocated. Qui-Gon watched in fascination as Obi-Wan's full lips parted in a moist exhalation, the surprise fading into the dark blue of deepening desire.   
  
Well, this certainly wasn't what he had meant to have happen. "Obi-Wan," he started, then stopped, distracted by the emotion in those crystalline eyes.   
  
The shadows of Obi-Wan's experiences in the Red Temple still raged in him, but there was an undercurrent of forbidden desire stroking through it, filling the young man with shame even as it pulsed through him in a thread of desperate need. There were tears in his eyes.   
  
Qui-Gon sensed instinctively that only one thing would exorcise the demon that had taken root in Obi-Wan's soul. Tentatively, he reached out one hand and touched his Padawan's face, tracing the path of his tears. Obi-Wan closed his eyes under the caress, a slow shudder passing through his tautly held frame. Almost as if it were against his will, he turned his face into Qui-Gon's hand and kissed the tips of those long fingers.   
  
The tender plea implicit in the gesture took Qui-Gon's breath away, honing his desire to a silver-fine edge within him. How long had they had these feelings for each other, he wondered, before their experiences in the Red Temple made them willing to acknowledge them? A shiver of raw need worked its way through him, and he very deliberately pulled his hand away from Obi-Wan's inviting lips. Obi-Wan's need sang to him through their bond, telling him in no uncertain terms that he wanted this. The caution with which Qui-Gon had shielded his own desires burned up in its heat.   
  
So be it.   
  
"Obi-Wan," he said quietly, but with unmistakable force. He barely recognized his own voice. "Take off your clothes."   
  
Obi-Wan's eyes grew wide as he looked up at him. "Master?" he queried, sounding lost.   
  
"You heard me." So quiet, that voice.   
  
Incredulous, Obi-Wan moved to obey, feeling as if he were in a dream. Off came the Jedi robe, sliding sinuously down to the floor at his feet. Then the boots, and the belt, then the pants and tunics, followed by his underclothes. It felt right, somehow, to stand naked in front of his Master, his every secret revealed. He stood tall, hands at his sides, eyes on the floor in front of him, waiting. Waiting. That it was his Master who looked at him, commanded him, filled him with equal parts excitement and fear.   
  
Qui-Gon stood still for a long minute, drinking in the sight before him. He was quite certain that nothing in all the galaxy could be as beautiful as his Padawan's naked, willing body. The fact that it was bared willingly, for him alone, brought a low moan to his lips. He ached to touch that strong body, to use it, to bring an end to the bittersweet longing that surged in both of them. But he held himself in check with effort. There were other, darker needs that needed to be seen to first. For both of them.   
  
"Turn around."   
  
Obi-Wan obeyed, and Qui-Gon's lips parted in a soundless exclamation as his eyes fell on the pattern of vivid pink scars that crossed that smoothly muscled back. His mouth went dry at the memory of a similar line of purest red rising as if by magic against perfect skin. His hands twitched at his sides.   
  
"Stand against the wall," he said hoarsely. "Lean your hands against it."   
  
Again, Obi-Wan did as he was told without question. Planting his hands on the wall at about shhoulder height, he leaned his weight against them, displaying the sensuous curve of his shoulders to full advantage, his head hanging down between his arms. Qui-Gon took in the sight hungrily; did this man have any idea how absolutely erotic his every motion was? Now the light fell warmly on that heavily striped back, glistening on his soft skin, accentuating every curve, every perfect line. The lean muscles quivered slightly.   
  
He could feel the need in Obi-Wan, a greedy, painful need. It burned like fire under his skin, threatening to consume him if it wasn't fed. Qui-Gon touched his hand to the back of one smooth shoulder, smiling slightly as Obi-Wan jumped at the contact. Slowly, he slid his hand down his Padawan's - his lover's? - spine, until his fingers cupped one cheek of that taut, beautiful ass. He squeezed gently, and a moan escaped from Obi-Wan's throat.   
  
"Please, Master," Obi-Wan said, unable to keep his voice from trembling. He pushed his hips back into Qui-Gon's hand. "Please." This last was barely a whisper.   
  
Qui-Gon nodded, acquiescing. Taking a step back, he swiftly shed his own clothes until he was as naked as his Padawan. His erection was hotter and harder than it had ever been in his life, and his breath was coming in sharp pants of barely subdued excitement. He was well and truly lost to himself now, but it didn't seem to matter. He would gladly give up all claims to Jedi stoicism and control if it meant he could drown himself in this exquisitely beautiful body, and the exquisitely beautiful soul that went with it.   
  
He reached for the supple leather belt that sat under the pile of clothes at his feet, feeling its heavy length in his hands. It almost seemed to writhe as he held it, a living thing, begging to be used. He folded it once around his knuckles, hiding the metal buckle in his fist. The end of it trailed nearly to the floor.   
  
Obi-Wan tried not to anticipate, tried not to tense as he heard the unmistakable shifting of weight that preceded the blow, but he did it anyway. The belt hit him with a touch like fire, and he cried out, more from ecstasy than from pain. He threw his head back, spreading his fingers to take more of his weight against the wall.   
  
"Again," he whispered, so softly that Qui-Gon might not even have heard him.   
  
"Again?" He could hear the hesitation in his Master's voice, the fear, but also a note of desperate longing.   
  
"Again, please. Another." He could hardly believe that he was standing here, naked and begging his Master to whip him. But it felt so right; he had dreamed of this even before he knew that it was what he truly wanted, truly needed. Even down there in the Pit, when everything in him had fought so savagely against it, he had known. Perhaps he'd always known.   
  
The next blow caught him across the backs of the thighs, and he choked off a scream, his whole body tensing. Then another lash hit him across the shoulders, and he felt the hot splash of tears slide down his face. Another swipe across his ass, licking at his tight, hot crevice, and he was whimpering suddenly, unable to stop the torrent of sounds that escaped him.   
  
"Again!" he cried, sobbing.   
  
The blows fell in earnest then, one, two, three in quick succession, taking his breath away. His Master was very strong, and each strike of the belt felt like it was flaying his flesh from his bones. The pain blazed through him as the blows rained down, filling him, threatening to consume him, but at the same time completing him in a very specific way. He felt a connection with Qui-Gon then that he had never before imagined.   
  
The rapid blows came to an end then, and Obi-Wan gasped as he felt Qui-Gon's arms fold around him. The other man's chest rasped across his newly tortured back, but even that pain calmed him, giving him a sharp sense of focus as his Master's lips fell to his neck and shoulders in a cascade of tender kisses, his long hair spilling over Obi-Wan's shoulders. "I'm sorry," the bigger man whispered, his voice rough. "Oh, Obi-Wan, I'm so sorry..."   
  
Obi-Wan wasn't sure exactly what he was apologizing for - for beating him, for wanting him, for needing him, for being his Master, for bringing him to Arambula and letting him lose himself inside the Red Temple. Perhaps it was all of these things. This insight into his Master's pain was almost too much for him, and he turned around abruptly, enfolding the man in his arms and meeting his mouth in a hungry kiss.   
  
They moved as one toward the low couch underneath the viewport, keeping the physical contact between them, Qui-Gon's tongue stroking hard and deep inside his mouth. There was something uniquely *Qui-Gon* about his Master's taste that set Obi-Wan's nerves on fire. He'd dreamed about this, lying in Arvala's arms. His Master, who owned him, who completed him, who filled all the dark and lonely places in his soul.   
  
Carefully, Qui-Gon rolled him over onto his back, wringing a small gasp from him as his newly won stripes touched the rough cushions. Qui-Gon hesitated then, but Obi-Wan pulled his head down and kissed his mouth firmly, unable to stop the low groan of need that issued from him. He felt Qui-Gon smile slightly, and those long hands began to move over him again, as if his Master sought to memorize every inch of his body through touch alone.   
  
One finger flicked at the tight entrance to his body, and Obi-Wan arched, hissing through his teeth. "Master, please," he said, folding his arms around Qui-Gon's neck and burying his face in his Master's long hair. His body fairly shook with the strength of his desire.   
  
"Your choice, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon whispered to him, his voice thick with arousal. It seemed dreadfully important to him that he make this distinction. "Your choice, always yours. Tell me what you want."   
  
For a moment, Obi-Wan couldn't speak through the sob that rose in his throat. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, feeling tears slide down his cheeks, and inhaled the sharp-spice scent of his Master's hair. "You," he breathed at last, the word falling from him in a deep sigh. "I want you, Master."   
  
A tremor passed through Qui-Gon then, and then his finger was pushing deep into Obi-Wan's body, taking the younger man's breath away. At the same time, he bent his head to meet his apprentice's mouth in a savage kiss. Obi-Wan writhed beneath him, returning the kiss with equal fervor.   
  
Oh, this was rapture. Qui-Gon added a second finger, and then a third, feeling Obi-Wan's body hum like a finely tuned instrument beneath him, and there was pain then, the stretching, but he could feel Obi-Wan drink it in like fine wine. Strange, how he seemed to crave this, even as he feared it, but equally strange was the way Qui-Gon's own fear mingled with his need to do this to him. He lowered his head to Obi-Wan's neck, tempering the pain with soft kisses, and Obi-Wan groaned, his body trembling and twisting in his arms, begging for more.   
  
His own need flared brightly within him, and he abruptly pulled his fingers from Obi-Wan's body, ignoring the gasp of protest that accompanied his action.   
  
Suddenly, Obi-Wan was pushing him back against the cushions, giving voice to a low growl of need that made Qui-Gon shudder in erotic appreciation. Before he was quite aware of what was happening, he was lying flat on his stomach with his Padawan stretched out possessively over him.   
  
"Obi-Wan..." he gasped, but then his apprentice bent to meet his mouth in a brutal kiss, stealing his breath away. Obi-Wan's hips ground into him from behind, his erection sliding lengthwise between the cheeks of his ass, and Qui-Gon moaned into that hot mouth, his thoughts skittering away from him like confetti in a whirlwind.   
  
Strong hands moved under him to grasp at his own throbbing cock, and Qui-Gon trembled as they stroked at him, lifting his hips up off the couch in a voiceless plea. The hands were not gentle, but they were thorough, and within seconds he was sweating and moaning and begging for more.   
  
//Anything you want,// Qui-Gon said with a groan, opening himself up completely to the turbulent emotions that surged through his apprentice, crackling like fire under his skin. //Anything ... all the anger ... all the hate ... just pound it into me ... please ... I'll take it all ... just use me, Obi-Wan ... let yourself go ...//   
  
Obi-Wan made a strangled cry and buried his face against Qui-Gon's neck, his body giving one last, desperate shudder before he slid his cock into his eagerly waiting Master. There was no lubrication, but Qui-Gon felt the subtle shifting of the Force that Obi-Wan used to ease his entrance.   
  
And then there was nothing but the hot-slick-powerful movements of his lover within him, possessive, demanding, unwilling to accept any compromise. Qui-Gon pressed back to meet each powerful thrust, powerless against the onslaught of emotion that poured into him, through him, lifting him up into a tender embrace of light that left him gasping, stunned at the sheer magnitude of feeling that his apprentice held for him. And despite all that had been done to him, all the abuse that he had suffered, the only thing that this young man wanted to give his Master was ... love. Qui-Gon felt tears slide down his cheeks, and he threw down the last of his mental shields, letting Obi-Wan feel the love that he felt for him in return.   
  
It couldn't last, although they both wished it would go on forever. They were one mind, one body, one heart pounding in a frantic rhythm that demanded their release. The orgasm hit them both simultaneously, and they screamed in one voice, shuddering as the climax of their love overtook them.   
  
When Qui-Gon came back to himself, he realized he was lying limply across Obi-Wan's trembling body.   
  
Carefully, Qui-Gon lifted his weight off of his Padawan and rolled onto his side. Obi-Wan moved with him until they huddled together, chest to chest, their arms and legs folded tightly around each other. Qui-Gon pressed a kiss to the top of his Padawan's head. Eyes the color of blue flame gazed up at him, full of absolute love and trust. He bent to brush his mouth across those kiss-swollen lips, sharing the breath between them.   
  
Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of deep contentment. "What do we do now, Master?" he murmured, his breath warm against Qui-Gon's lips.   
  
Qui-Gon hesitated, wondering how best to give the reassurance that his apprentice craved. Taking this step together had brought to an end any previous conception of their relationship, and it was a frightening thing. They were in uncharted territory now, but sommehow he knew that he and ObiWan would navigate it with ease, buoyed by the strength of their love for each other.   
  
"We go home," he said at last, tightening his arms around his apprentice and giving a little, possessive nip to his ear.   
  
He felt Obi-Wan smile, the tension leaving his body, and he snuggled in close to Qui-Gon's warm bulk as if they had been made to fit together like this, so perfectly complementing one another. Qui-Gon's eyes fluttered closed as he felt the need for sleep steal over him, listening to the sound of his beloved's breathing settle into the same slow rhythm.   
  
It was amazing, how much brighter the future could seem with the love of one young Padawan.   
  
  Fin.   
  
"I must also have a dark side if I am to be whole." -Carl Jung   
  
  12/24/99


End file.
